Blind Endeavours- Part 4: Adagio in G Minor
by Wiz-Chic
Summary: Part 4/10. Torturous events for all. Insanity beneath the obligation of repression. Madeline is changed. Sherlock is changed. Grand gestures are made. Scars are created. Lives are saved. Adventures are had. Nothing is the same again in 221B... but hearts always endure. (Slight M Rating) Sherlock/OC. COMPLETE.
1. The Game is On

******Poster coming soon. Song inspired for the title of this story linked in my profile. I suggest hearing it just for the sake of itself- it's gorgeous and will give you an idea of this part and what's to come. I _highly_ recommend it. It's a beautiful piece- worth the listen! **

**Warning reminder: I do not own bbc Sherlock or anything regarding it but everything otherwise and is original is mine.**

**Another warning: This chapter is a touch intense towards the end. This part is quite serious. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**2 Days Later. **

Silence.

Sherlock Holmes sat in his chair in 221B.

The flat was at a standtill, and more lonely than ever.

It was 2 people short. Even with Mrs. Hudson crying on the couch and Mycroft twirling his umbrella by the door- it was 2 people short. It was more lonely than Sherlock had ever experienced it. This was a feeling he never wanted to have again- the one of longing.

It was missing the smell of perfectly made warm tea and _his_ throat clearing.

It was missing the loud thumps of _her_ walking into walls and tripping over her own feet.

It was missing their constant conversations those two would have with each other- whether it was about what types of sandwiches were best or teasing Sherlock in front of his face attempting to get a reaction out of him- those were missing.

Those were missed.

Now the only thing noise that could be heard in the cold living room of 221B was the sad sound of Mrs. Hudson sniffing. Mycroft handed her a tissue as he spoke, "Are we ready to go yet?"

"I'm not going." Sherlock spoke bluntly not bothering to look at the man.

"You went to your own funeral, but you won't go to his?" Mycroft replied; Sherlock's face snapped towards him- his eyes wide.

"I have leads to look into. He left a breadcrumbs for me to follow." He spat, "Madeline's been in Moran's hands for 2 days-" Mrs. Hudson sobbed loudly at the reminder, "-I think I should continue to work on that so I don't loose anyone else. _Don't you think_?" his last comment dripping with sarcasm.

This silenced Mycroft. The man looked at his younger brother with worry. Even after the fall had Sherlock not been so on edge- so unpredictable, because even then he's at least known Madeline and John were safe. But now… that was not the case. Quite the opposite. Mycroft quietly took a sniffing Mrs. Hudson and escorted her out of 221B to attend the funeral of Doctor John Hamish Watson.

Sherlock continued to sit barefoot and remained unmoving as he stared at the familiar chair opposite him, unable to look away.

* * *

**St. Barts Garage. **

**The Next Day. **

"I don't get it, you know," Greg Lestrade said to Sherlock. "How are you so certain it's here?"

The last 2 days were spent looking over every inch inside of the hospital, but Sherlock was quite certain this was her last known area of being before being taken away to the second location. Every inch of the hospital itself had been searched- today was the last day and the last area left to search for clues.

The garage was filled with officers and detectives, each scoping out every crevice to find anything- any indication that Madeline had been there. "We've looked through every inch of the hospital and nothings been found." Lestrade added, "Nothing out of the ordinary. Even all the cameras were in order."

"He's just wasting our time." Donovan commented as she approached them not even bothering to take the search seriously any longer. Three days of looking at clean beakers and waxed floors was enough to drive any police officer insane. She watched Sherlock bent over the dark pavement with his magnifying glass with her arms crossed. "We looked at the camera's and _nothing _was out of the ordinary-"

"The camera's have been _fixed_." Sherlock said with a growl, unbelievably missing John. The crime scene just felt wrong without having his best man there anymore. But Sherlock knew he had to focus, he had to get to Madeline and put everything aside. "They were running on loops for 20 minutes three nights ago, Moran as "doctor Jack" had the whole hospital closed for that same night, and that night was the night Madeline was taken- he needed an easy way out. I know it's complicated for you but for the rest of us with functioning brains- it's simple enough to put 2 and 2 together- any idiot could figure it out… That means they had free reign over the hospital. This is where they took her before the second location."

"Yes but I have checked every inch of this hospital and I've found nothing!" Anderson said walking away from the group of cops towards Sherlock coming up next to Donovan; pulling his rubber gloves off.

"Oh!" Sherlock said with extreme exaggeration, standing up fully. "Well then in that case, let's all go home. The brilliant Anderson's figured it out again!" In a second his façade dropped to his stoic face and low blunt voice, "And of course by again I mean **_never_**. You're incompetent. Go be useful Anderson and go on a coffee run, feel free to take Sergeant Donovan along with you- I could deal with a lot less stupidity today."

"Alright-" Lestrade drawled out with immediate insistence before Anderson or Donovan could retort; Lestrade knew the consulting detective was under a lot of pressure and stress and gave him slack- especially so because for the past 2 days without John- without Madeline, his bite had been just as bad as his bark, "Anderson, Donovan," he addressed them directly, "maybe take lunch. Hm?"

"But-" Donovan began.

"That's an _order_." Lestrade said, "The both of you."

He knew he was giving Sherlock unfair advantage but… the man needed it. After everything- he needed it. Anderson and Donovan hadn't had much remorse for John as they barely knew him- to them he was just '_Sherlock's sidekick_' and Madeline was just '_that girl that yelled at Donovan that one time_' but Lestrade knew John Watson, he knew Madeline- they both meant something to him, and he knew they meant everything to Sherlock. Whether he'd admit it out loud or not.

Just as the two were to walk away, Anderson's eyes fell back on Sherlock who was once more crouched back down, but this time unmoving. Lifting his arm up he had something very thin in between a pair of tweezers. "And what's that? A string of hair?" Anderson mocked, "Is that your great discovery?"

But Sherlock didn't reply to the man. No, Sherlock didn't even care. He was lost as he stared at the straight long brown strand, it so thin it moved lightly with every breath he took. He would test it to make sure but he knew just by looking at it, just by getting the hint of the scent from her shampoo, that this was her hair.

This was _exactly_ what he was looking for. This _was_ his great discovery.

A message from her.

* * *

**St. Bart's Mortuary. **

Lestrade waited patiently beside Sherlock. Anderson and Donovan had taken their break just as ordered. In fact, all of the police had left at Lestrade's request. Sherlock had found what he wanted and Lestrade made them all at his disposal… And himself as well at Sherlocks.

"You don't have to be here." Sherlock mumbled as he continued to look into the microscope, changing the dials on it. He was not an idiot- Sherlock Holmes was anything but. He knew what Lestrade was trying to do. Not that he was going to push him away- no, perhaps Sherlock was a fool with most human emotions especially regarding his own (it did take him 3 years to realize that he was in love with the woman he partially lived with) but even he knew that he would not do well without someone next to him. Sherlock _appreciated_ (that was a rare one) Lestrade's presence, and what he was trying to do for him not only as a work colleague to find Madeline- but as a friend.

"No I know…" Greg replied awkwardly, how was he supposed to say that he wanted to be there for Sherlock because he didn't want him to be alone knowing that John couldn't be there with him anymore and that he'd only hurt more without someone there? Truth was Greg Lestrade didn't know how to say that, but he knew that Sherlock knew it. They both knew it. But neither would say it.

So he just settled with, "I need to be kept in the loop on this case, I'm reporting back to Mycroft on it too cause he's just as invested as well." The usual arguments Lestrade would hear from Sherlock whenever involvement of Mycroft came up weren't heard. The detective inspector realized it was because Sherlock wanted all the _help_ he could get…. (this was also rare). Delicately, Lestrade attempted to breach a subject, "…We're going to find her, Sherlock. …I promise-"

"It's hers." Sherlock cut him off bluntly. There was Lestrade's answer. Sherlock didn't want to discuss it. Any of it.

Not wanting to have this sort of conversation to sway his focus. He hadn't allowed anyone to open the doors of his emotions. Not towards Madeline. …not towards John. No. He couldn't. Not yet.

Not till the battle was done.

And everyone that surrounded him seemed to silently understand that. Even in a new situation of loneliness- Sherlock was reminded by their silence on the subjects from Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Lestrade- that he was not alone.

"What?"

"The hair, it's hers."

Looking at him with all astonishment Lestrade commented, "How in the bloody hell is her hair a clue?"

"It's in the garage, Lestrade, she's never been in there with me or with John or ever before. And these hairs are fresh. Also, there were three hairs in a row in the same parking spot- all hers. She pulled them out and put them there- clearly the white tips of the hair show that they were ripped out of her scalp one by one. If one of the kidnappers was going to do it- a large chunk would've surely been ripped out but no- there were 3 in order."

"Yes… alright, so that then proves that Bart's was the last known location which is great. That's finally a start." Greg said with a nod watching his friend pyramid his hands over his lips lost in thought. "But that doesn't tell us anything else. I don't see what you're so excited about. Hadn't you already deduced this?"

For one of the many opportunities for Sherlock to outsmart someone- this was one of those rare times when Sherlock Holmes kept his mouth shut. The hair didn't tell Lestrade anything else- yes, but those hairs spoke volumes to Sherlock.

They were her message for him, a message that said simply this:

That she was aware of what was going to happen to her. What was happening to her. That she knew he- the great consulting detective, would come looking for her in every crevice of London- and that she would help them both and in turn helping herself until he came for her. She wasn't going to let Moran get to her.

Of course the hairs didn't tell him where she was going. But they told him something he'd longed to know. That she wasn't going to give up.

Madeline Smith was a fighter. Just as she'd always been.

His heart began beating loudly, he could hear it in his ears. Sherlock's eyes closed for a moment attempting to calm it down.

The emotions they were… rising.

_NO. ...Maintain. _

He had to swallow them back down again. He couldn't let them rise.

"Well how the bloody hell did she figure we'd find her strands of bloody _hair_ in the area of the _whole entire hospital_. That's madness!" Lestrade interrupted. Sherlock's eyes shot open.

"She didn't figure any of _you _would-" Adding softly, "but she knew _I _would. …She knew I would."

"Wait," Lestrade said, breaking Sherlock's string of thoughts, "If she was in a position to leave a clue, an indication that she was there- why wouldn't she just drop something more obvious and more easy for us to find like that necklace her parent's had given her."

And right then at the reminder, after three days of nothing to smile about- Sherlock Holmes' face found a smirk upon it. "That's where she's the most clever."

"Clever? Seems rather risky to me."

Sherlock opened up his computer with a flick of his wrist. After a few moments of quick typing and clicking- he turned the screen in the direction of the Detective inspector and much to the man's surprise and confused- showed him a tracking program that was already up and running.

Greg looked back and forth between the computer and the consulting detective many times.

"…I don't get it."

"You know how I knew about the necklace, the location of her parents murder, the details, her old house- all of that information and didn't share it with her the first time she came here?" Sherlock didn't wait for a reply, "Well, that's because I'd put a tracking device in the necklace. I couldn't chance her going there before I got to an item that I knew she'd wear every day of her life- a gift from her biological parents. So I put it off telling her, finally got some free time with John on a date and her obsessed with painting for a gallery, stuck the dot in the necklace which Moriarty left out easy to find in her old cot oh-so-lovingly, and left. …it's unfortunate though that the next day Mycroft decided to tell her. She gave me a proper hit or two right on my cheek, nearly knocked me out cold."

"So you're telling me you know where she is!?" Lestrade exclaimed disbelievingly.

Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes, and his thoughts fells lightly on someone he was attempting to take out of his mind for the time being- _**he** would have never asked such a simpleton question,_ and shook his head clearing his memories once again before replying,"Not quite- if I knew that I certainly wouldn't be sitting here with you. No- Moran's smart, he took her to a remote area. But the tracker still gave me a general gist of their location. What I do know is that the area is Eastern London or nearby. It's rather large and rather broad and mostly abandoned area but I have my homeless network scrapping every inch of it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Greg exclaimed.

"Because I knew you would send every idiot officer there, blow the fact that I know the area straight into Moran's lap- and probably figure out that it's her necklace that led me there as it is the only solid object on her- throw it out and then take her to yet another location giving me less information to find her and more time for him to torment her. If that wasn't the case I'd go there myself and not sleep till I found out where."

"But he _wants_ you to find her I thought?"

"Exactly."

"So, wouldn't he just… let you get to her by that point?"

"No." Sherlock said darkly, "Not long enough for him to 'have fun' with her. …He wants me to struggle for it. To suffer knowing I can't get her quickly. He wants me to feel every minute that she's not with me and that he's in her hands. He wants me to feel alone and helpless- powerless; Which is why he took John away permanently. …Which is why he's giving Madeline an even worse fate than that. That's why this is the only way for me to find her quicker without his knowing."

A few moments of silence passed as Lestrade processed the information before realizing, "Wait, so, you'd told Madeline about the tracking device beforehand then? That's how she knew not to throw it?"

Another smile, "No," a light shake of his head as his eyes sparkled with pride as they looked at Lestrade, "I never told her. …She figured that out herself."

"You mean as they were taking her away?"

"Precisely. Otherwise if she would have known beforehand on any other day at 221B that I put a device in her parents trinket to her so I could keep track of her every location- I'm quite certain she would have found it a great pleasure to knock me out again. But now that it's useful- well I'm sure she's happy about my decision and she'll keep it on her as Moran plays his little games."

"Woe…" Lestrade mused, he was rather impressed, "I suppose she's something, isn't she?"

"Yes…" Sherlock spoke, his voice low and deep, "She is."

"So…" Lestrade then realized, "if you knew the area that she was kept in- _why_ did you have me charge 3 days overtime for almost every officer to search every inch of Bart's?" Sherlock only replied with a smile, clearly indicating that finding those hairs was a personal matter for him to which Lestrade rolled his eyes and moaned before inquiring, "So then now what do we do? What do we do next? Hopefully nothing that'll put me even more over budget?"

Sherlock looked like it was the most obvious answer in the world, "We talk to our best known source."

It took a moment for Lestrade to process it before he countered, "Oh no, Sherlock- no, poor girl." But the consulting detective wasn't listening as he slid on his trench coat and began to walk out of the mortuary with Greg Lestrade hot on his heels. "She hasn't been able to walk back into Bart's since it all happened! And you should have seen her at John's funeral- Sherlock, the poor girl's in a bit of a state- I mean come on- think about the position she's in-"

"We have no choice, Lestrade." Sherlock left no room for argument as he opened the front door swiftly, "Molly Hooper's our next stop to finding Madeline."

And he would. He would get to Madeline with any means possible. The repression of so much was slowly tearing down Sherlock Holmes' insides- contrary to the front of calmness he portrayed on the outside.

He could feel himself slowly die- slowly torture his heart moment by moment. The pain, the agony filled him like a sickness- like disease spreading through his every vein for all that had been taken away from him.

...for all that he had to find.

Before too much damage was done and her ability to still be her would be gone.

He had to or else who Madeline Smith was would be lost forever beneath the knives and torment of Sebastian Moran.

To find her.

...

To find her while he could still save her.

* * *

**Unknown Location.**

Numbness.

_Just continue reciting, always continue reciting_

She thought to herself. The book she'd memorized- the one that she read when she was her unhappiest- the only comfort she had left to recite in her head over and over again. Her favourite book.

This was the book, the story that reminded her of him... she saw his face in her mind of every word of it and could hear his voice say it to her. To say her favourite story in her head to attempt to help the pain.

Was it numb or was it pain?

_'With the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms...'_

Did her skin burn or did it freeze?

_'...Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them;'_

...Was she still bleeding?

"You know." The chilling voice said, folding another page of the paper, "It says here under John Watson's obituary and this small little article about him that his best friend Sherlock Holmes was not in attendance at the funeral."

She felt nothing.

_'...and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons,'_

"Hm..." He continued perking an eyebrow, "Well, can't say I'm surprised. Not really. Clearly he needs to focus on getting his _girl _back. Can't do that while he's thinking about poor old dead John Watson. Man that oaf, followed Sherlock Holmes around- never really did much. You know Sherlock Holmes will never actually _get _to me but I might have done him a favour by getting rid of that blondie- he was just holding him back from greatness. Jim thought so too."

_'...who, by bringing he-'_

**"****John Watson did more than you'll ever know**_._"

A moment of silence.

**"OH, _My_!**" Moran's loud voice of surprise echoed in the metal filled room, "She speaks!"

Immediately a guard flew open the door, letting a bright light in through the crack, "everything alright, boss?"

"Yes, you moron. Now shut the door." The light closed again. He turned back to her, "Who knew that three days of spider bites, knives, needles, and bleeding you out and the only way to get you to open your mouth is to diss that poor sod who's six feet under."

A tear unconsciously dripped out the side of her eye. John Hamish Watson was like a brother to her, none of the torture that she could possibly physically endure would hurt her as much as the thought of him did.

Feelings. Madeline felt them then.

She felt them for them... for John and for... _him_.

"Goodness knows Madeline Moriarty," Moran continued using her loathed secondly changed last name, "Moretti, Moriarty- Smith, whatever, that you should be openly weeping for the vision of Sherlock Holmes when he finds you like this. ...imagine what he'll do then. When he actually gets here. I'd like to think in my thoughts that he'll fight for you. In fact, I know he will." Sebastian smiled, lost in his fantasy, "perhaps weep over your body as I did Jim's. ...blame himself for every cut, for every scrape, every bite and every stab I've given you. Every drop of your blood I've spilled in his name and in his name only...:

Her body shook from feeling, from thoughts, from memories, from images- or yes, it_ was_ cold in the room. Or it wasn't. The little rag clothing she wore did little to cover her. Either were possible.

Had it been a year since she'd last seen them? Fear began to grip her as she felt their faces fade from her memory... it had only been days but the days felt like years and many more to come-

Her hands began to shake as she squeezed them tight. The metal chains on her wrists and on her ankles began to clink lightly against each other as her entire body began to convulse.

_No._

_No Madeline. _She reprimanded herself, chewing on her swollen lip.

In closing her eyes for a moment from looking at the pitch black ceiling and taking a deep breath, her body began to calm again. Thoughts, memories, images, visions, smells, voices- all repressed.

She repeated to herself-

_be brave... Maintain._

And continued mentally reciting.

_'...__the persons _who, by bringing he-'

"Ugh, is that all I get?" He groaned, realizing she'd gone back to her tolerant and annoyingly resigned state which no matter how much pain he put her in- she rarely broke from. "Goodness, you're _no_ fun. I thought torturing a scared young woman would be the funnest of all. Lost of screams and squeals- but Sherlock and John taught you well, didn't they? The stoic detective and the brave soldier." He mumbled disappointedly, "I should have figured this is what you would be like."

Reaching behind him, the bright reflection of a new metal 'toy' as he like to call them, shined in her eye as he grabbed it and held it properly in his hands, observing its sharp thin tip, "It's alright though," Moran added, "I'm going to find other ways to get that pretty little mouth open. This whole conversation we've just been having has given me an idea. ...I'm not going to kill you, Madeline, we both know that- but I need him to suffer as I did. I need him to feel it was him who caused you all of this... even though quite frankly it isn't him- it's your really unfortunate dead relatives, but he took what was important to me... and I'm going to make him feel every bit of it. I want him to suffer, and you're the best way for me to do that."

Placing the thin and small knife firmly against her protruding and exposed hipbone, the tip began to dig deep into the muscles, drawing a strip of blood that dripped down the side of her hip and pooled at the table beneath her buttocks.

She could feel the twist of the knife twice;

It was an '**S**' being carved.

Her bruised swollen lip began to tremble, as he finished the letter and next to it began again.

'**H****'**

...but she would not give in. She would not.

_'the persons who, by bringing her into Derby-"_

Moran began to Whistle casually; he finished the letter and moved on to the next.

'**E**'

'-_SHIRE... had been the means of uniting them.'_

'**R**'

_Finished. Second time through the book. ...breathe. ...Now start again._

_'...It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune...'_

_'_**L**'

_'...must be in want of a wife.'_

_..._

* * *

**Told you, intensity.**

**What'd you think? Many more things to come... **

**********REALLY IMPORTANT PLEASE READ:** Do not forget to either be following me as an author, or follow part 4 on it's own so that way you will get updates for whenever I update it. Follows do not continue from part to part as they are still posted as separate stories.

**Comments or grapes accepted. **

**...Comments preferred.**


	2. An Unfortunate Discovery by Molly Hooper

**Hey all! **

**Thank you to all who commented on the last chapter- your beautiful comments are the reason I'm posting this so soon. **

**Love you All and enjoy!**

* * *

Toby was a strange sort of cat. Yes, perhaps he was slightly overweight and perhaps he was somewhat anti-social and refused to have interactions with the other cats of the neighbourhood, but Toby held loyalties to his owner. He loved his owner and was very well aware that there was something very wrong.

Molly gasped surprised as Toby jumped on her lap and settled there, nuzzling his face against her stomach. Wiping the tears off of her cheeks Molly smiled and stroked the cats neck as it purred.

"…Is the cat necessary?" Sherlock mumbled.

"Don't be a prat, Sherlock." Lestrade reprimanded quietly, sipping on his tea.

"Sorry, uhm," Molly said pulling her robe tightly around her body as she sat across from both men. "I know what you're here for." Molly felt no need to fix herself up any longer, her hair in a messy bun, her makeupless face swollen and wet with tears, there was no need any more. She was… alone. "I'm sorry but he didn't tell me anything… Jack- Moran, you know he didn't. He didn't let on about anything. Didn't even mention you…" she motioned towards Sherlock as she continued to pet Toby. "I-…I don't know why he stayed with me then. A sick torment maybe? Maybe Jim told him I was easy and maybe it's just fun messing with me, who knows?" Molly began to laugh bitterly. "maybe I'm just so easy and so much fun. Two criminal masterminds in 2 years, I don't think that's a very good track record."

Moments of silence passed. Only the sounds of Toby's purring and Molly's light sobs, which she failed to stifle, filled the small flat.

Not knowing what to do, Lestrade looked to his friend to see if they should leave the poor girl alone now- but instead Sherlock remained stoic and said something that shocked the Inspector Detective.

"Lestrade. Give me a moment alone with Miss Hooper."

Greg looked at him wide eyed, fear filled him that leaving Sherlock alone with her might make things worse, "Uhm, Sherlock, I don't thin-"

"Please."

The word hung in the air strangely between both men. Sherlock didn't even glance Lestrade's way as he got up out of his chair, "Alright," He said resolved, "I'll be in the kitchen if anyone needs me."

Sherlock remained unmoved after the inspector left. He continued to eye Molly Hooper, observing her- watching her outward display of emotions. Not that she had much of a choice though- Sherlock saw her inability to control them. Each sniff, each tear left her body without permission. This was a concept that baffled him and yet at the same time, for one of the few times, did not disgust him.

"Molly." Sherlock stated. His voice coming out much harsher than intended; and to both of their surprise- Sherlock had come to sit next to her on the couch.

She looked down at Toby, refusing to meet his eyesight as she spoke softly, "No, I know. Don't feel bad for me, I'll be fine."

"I don't feel bad for you." Sherlock stated as-a-matter-of-factly, "That's a foolish assumption, especially regarding myself. But don't forget we lived together for the better part of a year."

"Please don't remind me all the stupid things I did and said," She looked down and blushed madly, a particular memory of her being drunk and begging Sherlock to kiss her filling her mind.

What was even more embarrassing and simultaneously stimulating was the fact that he _did. _

"So you remember that then?" Sherlock inquired lifting an eyebrow. Molly simply blushed more. "Do you remember what you asked me?"

"…Vaguely." Molly whispered, still far too humiliated to meet his electric eyesight.

"You asked me if I hadn't met Madeline- if it could have ever been you. I said yes. …But surely, you must've known-"

"You didn't mean it and you were only saying it to make me feel better?" Molly nodded her head and finally looked at him. His face, his eyes shocked her. On the outside he looked so normal, as if nothing had gone wrong in his life this past week. But Molly saw past that. She saw what was behind him, inside him- she saw the man falling apart beneath the surface. "It's ok Sherlock." She grabbed his hand and squeezed it- as a comfort for them both. "I'm not a stupid little girl- "

"No, I know. At the time it was a lie. But… I must say, and I mean this genuinely, …yes." Sherlock said coolly, "it could have been you if…" he paused, not wanting to say Madeline's name as a harsh reminder of her current whereabouts. "Possibly."

A light smile came across Molly's face, "really?"

"Yes. But as I said before it doesn't matter because that sort of reality is no longer possible." His voice was harsh. Although his words were kind his tone and his outward appearance still looked as though he was constantly in a fight. This of course was the man before her. This was who he was. "Don't give up on… _sentiment_. Molly Hooper. You're one of the best at it."

Her heart swelled suddenly. Sherlock Holmes was… encouraging her. He was making her feel better. Just as she was going to open her mouth he cut her off-

"You are the most annoyingly sentimental uselessly adoring and wide-eyed person I've ever met and I find all of those traits utterly repulsive and absolutely useless. …But in the realm of what _you're _looking for, they're rare traits that are good things, and will only benefit your cause."

"…Thank you, Sherlock-"

"Don't thank me, I'm only being honest." Sherlock snapped in defense. "And your hair looks awful. I suggest running a comb through it before you begin pursuing another useless attempt at matrimony."

Molly smiled widely. Her tears had dried.

"So… figured it out then?" Molly inquired after a moment, a little laugh in her throat.

This time, Sherlock looked at her with utter astonishment, "Excuse me?"

"Figured out that you're in love with _her_?"

The room went still. Silent. The atmosphere had changed at the mention of her.

Sherlock looked away from Molly straight ahead at the empty chairs. He would never admit it outloud. No. The word 'love' would never leave the lips of Sherlock Holmes.

But that didn't take away the reality of what he felt- and what he knew.

His silence was an answer enough for Molly Hooper. It seemed everyone had known he was in love with Madeline Smith long before he did.

And now where was she? What good had his 'love' done for her?

"Oh, Sherlock." Molly said softly. Leaning towards him, Toby popped off of her lap. In a surprise action of affection, she wrapped her arms around Sherlock Holmes' broad stiff frame and placed a kiss upon his cheek, "you'll find her. You'll get her back. And when you do… tell her. Find a way to tell her because you'll regret it forever if she slips between your fingers and it's too late. …Us women can't wait forever, you know."

And it was moments like these when Molly Hooper would give advice to Sherlock Holmes that even astonished him.

He didn't wrap his arms around her, but only for a _second_ patted her hands that were intertwined against his chest as she laid her head upon his shoulder. What was even more astonishing is that he didn't pull away, that he didn't get up nervously and create a distance.

Perhaps he knew he needed this dose of affection? He knew she was one of the few people that saw through him- one of the few that affected him. And this time, perhaps he needed just as much consoling as she needed from him. That answer was simple enough.

"It'll be ok." Molly whispered pulling away. "She'll be ok."

Sherlock waited a moment, straightened out his jacket and spoke nonchalantly, "I know Moran didn't tell you anything." He stated as if nothing had just happened.

"You… you knew?" She asked astonished, staring at him with all thoughts lost on the world. "…Then why did you come here?"

Sherlock looked at her, stoic and silent- but his answer was there. It was surprising but at the same time, in a way… it wasn't.

It was… _heartbreaking_.

"Alright, I can't take it anymore," Lestrade came barging out of the kitchen, utterly unawares of what had taken place between Molly and Sherlock. "You have nothing to eat in there and we're just wasting good time spent to look for Madeline- so shall we go?"

"Yes, I think that's for the best." Sherlock stated definitively. The moment of expression with Molly was over.

Standing up and fixing his coat, Sherlock eyed Lestrade.

"So, where to next?" Lestrade said unable to hide his excitement. Going on an adventure with Sherlock Holmes suited him well.

"Lunch."

"Oh thank god, I'm starving!" Lestrade exclaimed, "What do you want to eat?"

"I don't. But I'll wait while you do."

"Bye Molly," Lestrade said with a compassionate smile, "thanks for trying."

"N-no problem." Molly stuttered, still stunned as she watched both men leave her flat.

Toby looked up at his owner curiously.

But Molly was beyond astonished to even notice.

Sherlock had let her see things he'd never let her see before. Never let anyone see before- other than John, she assumed.

There was nothing for the men to investigate- Sherlock was much less interested in any leads. And that look he gave the detective inspector… no. No there was nothing for them to do, Sherlock had whatever leads leading to Madeline under control.

She supposed he was now just waiting on his homeless network to find out where they were so _therefore_…

He was only taking Detective Inspector Lestrade on a little "adventure" to…

be…

…_nice_?

No.

That couldn't have been it.

Not for Sherlock Holmes!

That. He didn't do, that. No. Did he do that to John… _before_? Well, no one really knew but them. She supposed he must have.

Either way it was what she saw. It was what Molly saw. It was what Sherlock allowed her to see. Why he allowed it, she didn't know. But he did.

And as bizarre as these actions from him towards Lestrade were- _nothing_ compared to his actions and intentions towards her.

Sherlock Holmes had come to the flat of Molly Hooper's not to get information from her, but to seek… something else.

Something strange. Something she'd never seen him seek in all the years she knew him.

He was seeking _comfort_…. even if only for just a moment.

That was that then.

Molly's heart fell to her stomach in fear. This wasn't the Sherlock Holmes she knew. In reality one would think she would rejoice- perhaps all that had happened to him and these sort of reactions were a good thing- but no, Molly knew otherwise.

The consulting detective was not, nor would he ever be a man to seek _comfort_ in others, no.

Not unless…

_"Oh god."_ Molly gasped, placing her palm over her mouth she felt tears begin to sting her eyes once more.

This was worse than she'd assumed.

He hid it well now. Hiding it, covering it, refusing to acknowledge it until he got Madeline. He had to stay in top shape appearances wise to be able to tackle Moran.

It wasn't that Sherlock was in the _process _of breaking down beneath the surface- no.

Madeline was at the hands of a madman- he'd lost his best friend _John- _oh no-

The man was already broken.

Shattered to pieces on the inside, Sherlock Holmes hid it well for now while he had to. The fear was now when he got Madeline back in the absence of John… how would he ever be put back together again?

He'd been broken once before. A long while ago. Before John knew him, before Molly knew him, before many people knew him…

And all Molly had been told regarding that time is that it was nearly impossible and only by happy chance that they were able to put Sherlock Holmes back together again….

* * *

**And I'd_ like _to post the next chapter very soon.**

**Comments are the wind beneath my wings. **


	3. A Study in Youth- Part 1

**What can I say? The filming of series 3 is making me so giddy and happy and generous. Here, another chapter and may I say it's a very special one- on the house. ;) **

**Thank you to all who commented - my fucking stars I love all of you. You make this process all worth it. **

******WARNING, PLEASE EVERYONE READ THIS: **Remember in Series 1 when I started off I said that this story was going to be moving into M rated territory? _Well_…** This chapter is rated M for serious situations including drug use, prostitution, nudity, and sexual content. It's _very_ vivid and dark at some points.**

**If you don't read M for any of the reasons above- message me with your email, tell me what you want excluded from the story, and I can send you an edited version of it. But I must reiterate that soon the upcoming entire parts will be rated M. **

**Also, as requested, this chapter is FOUR TIMES longer than the last one, so enjoy :) **

* * *

**_10 years ago…._**

* * *

A 24 year old young man, wearing dark jeans, a wrongly button up shirt and hazy bright eyes bounced his way down the night London street. His head was light, his eyes watery, and his mouth loose.

"Whatever you waaanttt…." He slurred loudly, "Whatever you _neeeeed_. Whatever you want baby, I'll do it _naturallyyyyyy_."

_"Shut up!"_ a male voice shouted from afar, echoing through the alleys.

"YOU shut up!" The man shouted back to the empty street. It only took a moment and a light stumble for him to continue his tried and true song, "Cause I'm every woman- it's all in _meeeee_."

"Lovely singing voice." A voice to his right said. The young man stopped yet again. This time perched his thin body against the brick wall, rolling his eyes he already knew who it was.

"What do _you_ want?"

"Just checking in. You look familiar, were you part of the drugs bust last week by chance?" The detective inquired.

"Feel free to deduce that yourself." The young man replied. The detective observed him curiously. He was most definitely drunk out of his mind, he was just another bum- wasn't he? But his nice clothes said something else. He'd ran into him just now by accident but the boys bright eyes and shaggy hair brought a compassion out in the detective he couldn't understand and couldn't get out of his head since he'd seen him for the first time last week.

"Feel like I should introduce myself," The detective held out his hand, "My name is Gr-"

"OH bugger off!" The young man shouted, pushing the older mans hand away. "Don't think I'm an idiot. Not for a second. Yeah, I was at the drugs bust last week in Cardiff- you didn't get me though. So what are you going to do about it?" He taunted with a cocky smile. The detective didn't reply. He could have arrested the young man but… he chose not to. As to why he chose not to- he didn't know. "_Nothing._ That's what you're going to do." The drunkard taunted, "You and your silly sentiment. You'll never get that promotion you've been wanting with that sort of weakness." The detective looked at him with utter astonishment.

_How the hell did he know about that? _

The young man attempted to stand up straight and fixed the collar of his messy striped shirt, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a sporting event to get to."

* * *

He was a touch off his game. But that did not mean he wouldn't win.

_How long should I let him get on for? _

Sherlock thought slyly as he ducked from yet another punch. The man before him was gasping for air, sweating up a storm and bleeding from his right cheekbone. He was at least twice the size of Sherlock- but not even half as smart.

_Ehh… bored! _

And with that Sherlock reeled his fist back and then snapped it forwards directly plowing against the man's nose, sending him straight back onto his ass.

_Now did I forget to mention to him I'm certified in judo?_

The surrounding crowd went wild as the reigning champion raised his arms in success.

"Now where's my money?" Sherlock said cockily with a wide smile on his face as he grabbed the wad of cash out of the bookies hand. The crowd cheered even louder for the young man who's strength and smarts seemed unmatched- even in his inebriated state.

Sherlock relished in the praise.

Grabbing his shirt, jacket he took a shot before heading away from the fighting match even further downstairs. It was time to put his winnings to good use.

Reaching the bottom he came face to face with a closed door and two burly men guarding it- both of which knew Sherlock by face and reputation.

Slipping them each 50 pounds of his winnings, they nodded at him and let him through.

"Welcome back Mister Holmes."

* * *

He could feel it begin to leave him.

The temporary ease of the alcohol was slowly fading. No, he needed something stronger now.

Sherlock's fingers ran along her naked back, up and down her spine. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, her left leg in between his own. Of course he was erect, he was fully naked with a very beautiful naked woman laying atop him.

But that wasn't part of the agreement- sex. No. Not at all.

Lucy's company was something else for him. Her fiery red curls surrounded her thin shoulders as she looked up at him with wide green eyes. "When are we going to do something?" Her hand began to caress his chest, "It's been a year and nothing…. Usually I'd be thankful to get a break from all the men that walk in here but you… you're someone I actually _want._"

Sherlock looked down at Lucy with curiousness in his eyes, was she…? No. Of course not. She was a prostitute- prostitutes couldn't have feelings for men, to their clients. Especially not the ones who didn't have sex with them like himself, Sherlock boasted. But the more he looked at her in her bright green eyes, the more he realized maybe this was an area he didn't quite understand. "Lucy…" his deep voice ran shudders up her spine. "Do it."

Her eyes held disappointment, "Sherlock, I-"

"I don't pay you for discussions, I pay you to _do as I say_." He growled impatiently. The reality was rushing to him. No no no, this would not do. He had to get rid of it. All of it.

Feel nothing.

Always… feel nothing.

Lucy sighed and sat up grabbing his materials he kept with her for safe-keeping, his high must have been wearing off…. he was exceptionally moody when his high was wearing off.

She'd spend nights when he wasn't around wondering what he was really like. Wondering what he was like beneath all of the drugs and alcohol. She didn't know Sherlock Holmes. He'd walked in and out of her company for a year and she still didn't know who he was. He was too busy trying to be someone else and he succeeded.

Not once had he not been inebriated since she'd known him.

Not once.

He was most certainly an addict.

And if you asked Lucy- the most tragic one she'd ever seen.

Grabbing long tube she tied it around his forearm as he exposed them to her, laying back and relaxing, Sherlock sighed from relief as he felt the needle pierce his skin, the liquid now being slipped through his veins.

"_aahhhh…_" He smiled. "Well done, you… come here."

Lucy looked down at him sadly but did as he said. He was her only client that she trusted.

Laying atop him, Lucy placed both her hands on his collar bones and looked down at his face, his perfect face.

"Sorry for my tone earlier…" he mumbled. Talking to a woman in such a manner was so contrary to who he was deep down that he always made up for it. That was a little piece of the _real_ him Lucy saw now and again.

"It's ok…" She replied lightly, "it's my job, isn't it?

"No, don't say that…"

She looked down at him with curious sadness, "Why are you so nice to me?"

Sherlock looked back at her, almost offended at her words, "What do you mean?"

"You're awful to everyone but… to me you're so nice."

"Well I chose you out of the other girls didn't I? Maybe I just like the look of you." His attempt at perversion being his reasoning did not get past the girl.

"No, that's not it, it has nothing to do with my look or else we would have had sex by now. You said you wanted me after you heard my name. I remember the first day you came in, they went down the line- you passed over Allison and April and Scarlet but when I said my name was 'Lucy', then you picked me."

Sherlock took a moment and looked at her silently, "Suppose it's cause I knew a girl named Lucy once."

"…you did?"

"Yes, yes I did. You don't look anything like her though. But your temperament reminds me of her."

"Who was she?"

"It doesn't matter. I barely got to know her. She never really mattered, which is funny now that I even picked you because of the name. Must be a subconscious foolishness."

"Yes but knowing her meant something to you, didn't it?"

"…I suppose."

Lucy smiled shyly, teasing, "And you're sure I'm not her?"

"Positive. She had brown eyes and blonde hair. Eye colours don't change."

"Figures. I would've never forgotten should I have met you before."

"I'm sure you would have." Sherlock countered, "I'm sure she has as well…it was a very long time ago."

"Tell me what happened?"

They stared at one another, a moment of silence passed.

"…No." He replied sternly. He never told her anything. She didn't know anything about him. It was just the way Sherlock wanted it. No- _needed _it.

"I don't know why you won't share _anything_ with me… it's been a year and I don't even know who you are in the least bit." Lucy replied frustrated.

She wanted to know him- to get to know the real him. The one behind all of the drugs, all of the pretense. But he was like an iron wall that she could never get past.

"Don't be sad, Lucy… it'll be ok." Sherlock said softly, his words slurring. A tear fell down her cheek as she watched him, who he was slowly disappear beneath the veil of the heroine, his thumb reached up and wiped it away. "…I'm still here."

"No you're not." She whispered, shaking her head.

He swallowed and clenched his jaw at her response. "Don't be sentimental like this. It'll do you know good."

"I may have to do whatever others pay for- but I feel whatever _I _choose to." Lucy said firmly, wiping her tears, "that's something no one can take away from me. And you were away for longer than you promised- so you're the last person in the world to tell me about _feelings_ you have no concern for any one else's, not even your own."

Sherlock looked up at her and was silently moved by her boldness. It had been a week since he'd last seen her. He hadn't meant to be away for so long- but his prolonged cocain run to Cardiff delayed him.

He could see there was no happiness, no pleasure behind her eyes. The other clients, she'd told him, they used her like a rag doll. She'd become daunted and jaded whenever he was away for too long and unable to give her a break through them. To give her a break, and give her release, a moment of clarity and pleasure amongst all of the numbness of her life.

"Kiss me." Sherlock demanded softly, "Now."

Biting her lip, Lucy knew the drill. It was the only moment of bliss amongst this man's world of sadness. This was his best way to cheer her up. And she loved him for it.

Leaning down she placed her lips against his own and after a moment he pulled away, his bright dilated eyes sparkled with intensity as they looked at her, "open your mouth." He demanded, using his thumb to encourage her chin down.

She did as he asked and felt his tongue slip against her own, she moaned into his mouth. His left hand was tangled tightly in her hair as the other one squeezed her bum before heading down its curve. Lucy sighed as his hand began to explore her softly, sweetly.

Unlike the other men, Sherlock was kind to her body. He always seeked to give her pleasure- and never got any in return- because he never expected any in return, and never asked for any in return.

Two of his long fingers slipped into her as his middle finger moved in soft circles around her wet clit. Sherlock's tongue began to thrust in and out of her open mouth in tandem with his fingers, each pump making Lucy gasped as he began to curl his fingers inside her with every thrust.

Unconsciously pulling away her face, Lucy's eyes closed tightly and she gasped as she felt a third finger enter her. Digging in her nails as she grasped onto his shoulders, Lucy began to move herself against his hand.

"There we go…" Sherlock drawled out biting his lip. "Good girl."

"Sherlock-!" She gasped, opening her eyes to look down at him as she moved up and down.

She was close, he could tell she was close. He knew exactly what her kinks were, exactly what set her over the edge. He learned her as he learned everyone else. But for learning Lucy- instead he used it to take her over the edge- and he liked watching her go over the edge.

And he knew precisely how to get her there.

"Fuck yourself harder." She looked at him with dilated eyes as he spoke, his voice deep and dark, "_… I want your cunt all over my hand_."

That did it.

Lucy's head flew back as she screamed in utter ecstasy. Her eyes watered as euphoria flooded her; she could feel his hand now stroking her comfortingly. Her body fell forward against his.

Breathing heavily, Lucy nuzzled her face in Sherlock's neck. "Oh Christ…" she breathed. "I've been with hundreds… but you're the only one who's been able to… thank you, Sherlock."

"No…" he slurred closing his eyes peacefully, "thank you, Lucy."

**"_POLICE!_" **

The words rung throughout the rooms like a shot. Sounds of women screaming and men shouting suddenly filled every crevice of the darkened halls.

Immediately Sherlock sat them up quickly with only one thing on his mind- "This is your chance." He said sternly looking at Lucy, "Confess."

Lucy looked at him wide-eyed and confused, her heart beating a million miles per hour. There was a banging on the door, the handle jiggled but it was to no avail as there were three locks blocking entry. "Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

"This is your chance. Go with the police. Ask for their protection. They can keep you out of here if you tell them the truth."

"Yes, but then I'll also go to jail!" She countered, "No, no I'm better off here. I'm better protected here. And anyways…" Her eyes burned with tears, "I can't leave."

"Yes, you can!" Sherlock exclaimed, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her. He grabbed his own boxer-briefs and slipped them on. "Lucy this is the perfect opportunity- do as I say."

The tears were falling freely now, he wasn't getting it. "Sherlock, if I confess I'll be locked up… I can't chance that. I can't _handle_ that."

"So you'd rather be a prisoner in your own life? Is it worth it then?" He growled angrily at her, slipping on his pants. There was more banging on the door. "To live this life- to be like this all to avoid a little bit of jail-time for a fresh start!"

A moment of silence passed between the two of them as Lucy looked sadly at the young genius man who could see everyone else _so _clearly but could _never_ see himself, and replied softly "…I could ask you the same thing."

The door broke down and there stood the same sodding detective from before with two men at his side, "Christ I just can't seem to shake you off, can I?" Sherlock said casually, rolling his eyes.

The detective eyed the needles, tubes and bottles in the corner, "That's interesting. You're both in a bit of trouble."

"They're_ mine_." Sherlock spat. "Not hers. She's clean. Test her."

"Oh right yeah, and I'll take your word for it." The detective said sarcastically, crossing his arms, "Cuff 'em."

* * *

The holding cell was very little fun for Sherlock- seeing as he was the only one in it.

"And why is no one else here?" He drawled out loudly, catching the attention of the surrounding officers that were sitting at their desks.

"Because," The detective sighed as he looked through the files, his desk directly next to the cell, "You're the only one we can keep under arrest for possession and under the influence of narcotics."

"Brilliant." Sherlock sat in front of the bars facing the detective, his arms hanging between them and his face pressed between two. His high slowly falling but his snarkyness remaining intact. "And the other hundred people? Can't hold them, can you?" Sherlock taunted.

The detective sighed with aggravation, "No. Claiming it was a sex party is not illegal. Neither was the fist fighting club above it- permits are unfortunate in these sort of situations. And don't you worry- the redhead you were with is back to work. She was clean just as you said" He said nonchalantly.

Sherlock's face changed suddenly. He felt his chest tighten. Lucy hadn't confessed then.

"Oh don't tell me you actually liked the girl." The detective chuckled as he noticed the change in the young man. "She chose to go back there."

"Not that she felt she had much of a choice." Sherlock mumbled to himself.

"Yes well perhaps if either of you noticed," He countered, "_She did." _

Sherlock looked back at the slowly greying man with bitterness in his eyes.

"Yes well perhaps if _you_ had any intelligence- _detective,_" he spat, "you would know it's because she was raised in an abusive home with a mother who taught her no morals and therefore to step outside of the job she's been in most of her life is the most frightening thing she would endure, and therefore chooses to stay at the job that she despises because the only way she's ever known how to live in this world is to live in utter pain." Sherlock's words were clear and sharp, as was his glare at the detective who's attention he held with absolute completeness. "Not all of us are afforded the same luxury of _privilege_ as you and I."

The detective sat and stared at the young man, "Can't believe I'm getting a compassion-speech from the cocaine heroine addict in the jail cell."

"It's not a _compassion-speech_-" He spat as if the words were poisonous, "It's common sense which you and everyone here lacks."

"Oh, really?" The detective leaned forward on his desk, "Amuse me then."

Sherlock stilled, his hands wrapped around the bars as his eyes looked at the detective with a wicked spark in them, a smirk came onto his face as he spoke slowly with condescension. "Oh, I don't think you want that detective."

"Oh," The detective smiled back with confidence, ready to be underwhelmed but the young man's comment on his want of a promotion earlier still fresh and surprising, "I think I do."

"Well then," Sherlock said casually, "Off we go then? For starters I know you are only 36 years old but have a high-pressure home-life due to the beginning of grey hairs on your head. I also know that pressure is caused by your wife- no kids. Your clothes are far too clean and sharp to be at the mercy of young children. You clearly want a promotion as I'd pointed out before- but not in a different department, no, you enjoy adventure. You enjoy the thrill of the job and the stupid burst of sentimental joy at the thought of helping others. You think about your moral choices more often than not- choosing to be aloof to the law when morality is in question- choosing humanity before rules and regulations you're paid to uphold. Again- your weakness."

"So what?" The detective cracked, "are you a psychic then? Most of what you said there could have been figured out by anyone. Come on then, I thought you were at _least _going to try and impress me!" He chuckled loudly.

Sherlock knew the man was right, of course he was right. Sherlock knew his deduction skills were minimal when he was inebriated- of course they were. That's how he liked them, they wouldn't get him into trouble then. But he wanted to impress this man- he didn't know why, but Sherlock wanted to.

So he put in all of his focus that he could possibly muster, and his eyes cleared only for a moment to do what he once did best.

"Last night you had unpleasing intercourse with your wife. Pleasing for her- unpleasing for you and yet _you don't know why_. This morning you skipped breakfast on account of your stomachache you received from a late night snack- something sweet, I'd say. Cake? Possibly. I'd say it was your birthday this past week and some leftover cake would have done the trick. Hence the heartburn your currently feeling. Not too bad though- which is why you're still planning on keeping the date of playing football with your old university mates on Sunday.

On your way here to the station, the trolley broke down and you had to walk 3- no four, blocks just to get here making you late. Adding reprimand from your boss whom you despise but who you still feel obligated to please and impress due to the fact that he is retiring very soon and you've been eyeing his job for quite some time.

For lunch you decided to eat out- but you ate alone. You respect your colleagues but find you have little in common with them. I'd say you had Indian food, based on the distinct smell of curry your tie still has from being directly over the bowl during the 20 minutes it took you to eat it.

On your way back from lunch it had rained and a bicyclist cut you off- which would explain the splattering's of mud and water along the back calves of your 50 pound suit. You ran into me by accident on the street and followed me into the underground fighting club- took your time to get your warrant than barged in knowing you couldn't arrest anyone but quite under the suspicion you would get me for the drugs this time.

Why did I let you follow me? Perhaps I was hoping a certain someone would take the opportunity to change. Perhaps I wanted to see if you'd charge her and the others regardless of your lack of evidence in order to see your character as an officer and as a person... Perhaps I needed a place to sleep tonight? Or perhaps I wanted a way to get your attention to pull your _heroic_ character in the right direction of helping those women who can't help themselves…" his voice now calm, soft, and casual as he finished, "and perhaps I am a little disappointed in your choice of choosing law over common sense, _detective._"

Silence…

Astonishment.

Astonishment was what the detective exuded at that moment as he stared at the nonchalant young man.

The detective's mouth was agape, his eyes wide, and his body frozen. It was as if this boy had read his life and everything about himself in a book and was reiterating it back to him as if it was written on his head.

Sitting back in the stool, Sherlock rolled his eyes. His guard and his focus coming down again, giving way to the drugs in his blood as he spoke casually, as if he'd just done nothing out of the ordinary. "Can I go now? You're clearly not going to do anything and I'm busy. I have things to do."

The detective was, quite simply, speechless.

* * *

The interrogation room was quiet and private. Sherlock Holmes sat alone at the table. Before him was an empty chair and behind it was a two way mirror which he was certain no one was standing behind except for the pacing detective who was still attempting to calm his senses.

"Can we move this along please?" Sherlock said carelessly, his voice echoing in the metal room. "I told you, I have things to do."

The door opened and in walked the detective, more distraught and confused than ever as he took the seat across from the young man.

"How did you do that?" He said still with astonishment, "Back there? With me?"

Replying simply, "I observe."

"Yeah, but not like a normal person. You.. you… saw things that regular people can't see. Other people can't know just by looking at me."

"That's because you're all idiots."

The detective paused as Sherlock showed no remorse or reproach for his insult, "Where did you learn how to do it, did someone teach you?"

"I perfected it." Was the only response he received.

"Alright…" The detective said, "You could have the charges dropped… as long as you would be willing to help me on a very secret case that I am on now?"

"What you mean the missing woman?" The detective's eyes went as wide as saucers, "Pff," Sherlock brushed off and sat back in his chair, wringing his wrists inside the cuffs as he placed his hands atop his lap, "Bored."

"How… how did you know about that? It's not even in the press yet-"

"Do you _really _want to know?" Sherlock challenged, ready for another opportunity to show off.

"Maybe later." The detective said impressed, "…You could be helping people, you know."

"Doesn't interest me."

"What about the prostitute you wanted to help?"

"A debt to pay." Sherlock's voice was defiant and blunt, "She saved my life twice from overdose. I feel like I should save her life once- even if from herself."

The detective snorted as if to mock the irony of the statement and who it was coming from. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in blunt offense.

"I'll tell you what," Sherlock said, "you drop the charges _and _give me that heroine you confiscated, and I'll help you find that poor missing woman you've been looking for for weeks. I'll tell you where she is."

"You don't know where she is-"

"Oh yes I do." Sherlock smiled wickedly, knowing the ball was in his field. "I can tell you exactly where she is right now. Just give me my stuff. That was my last supply and I'm out of funds- you see. I have a fight in 3 hours I _must_ get to but I'm afraid I'm going to miss and I won't have another opportunity to make money till tomorrow and I can already feel the injection starting to wear off- so you see the dilemma." The detective hesitated, "Just give me my stuff, you get the woman that I could really not give a rats ass about, it's a win-win situation." Silence filled the room. "What's your name?"

The detective looked at the young man surprised, "You knew all that about me but you don't even know or bothered to find out my name?"

"Names are boring. What is it? I need to know what to call you when I get tired of calling you _idiot._"

"…You can call me Detective Lestrade."

"Yes, well _Detective Lestrade,_ you know if you find this woman that's been missing for weeks you'll get that promotion. You'll get that job. And I'm handing it to you here… all you have to do is say the word, let me go, give me my things- and your whole world will change for the better. And I'll find another way to get Lucy out of there."

Lestrade couldn't deny it even if he wanted to- at 10 years younger than him at only 24, this kid was good. He knew how to get what he wanted by any means possible and was ready to do anything to get to his goal. Lestrade saw that through him quickly and decided he needed to know more. He needed to see more of this Sherlock.

From the side of the chair Lestrade pulled out a folder and began to sift through it as he sighed. "Sherlock Holmes…" He read aloud. "Born in London. IQ is off the charts here. You first went to Cambridge then transferred and graduated from Oxford in sciences and history. Top of your class with official complaints from all of your professors permanently on file- most of them calling you a '_know-it-all asshole who doesn't know when to shut up_' Well- no surprise there," Sherlock sighed restlessly having heard this all before. "Upper class family- well, very upper class family I see. Parents, divorced. One brother- though there's no information on him here. No known occupation. Never had an occupation then?" Lestrade looked at Sherlock curiously, "No known interests? Never had any dreams to be anything?"

"What is this precisely? Other than a waste of my time?" Sherlock asked pointedly.

"Answer the questions and I promise you'll be out of here sooner than if you don't. You know I can keep you locked up in here for three days. … Long time to go without your _stuff…_."

Sherlock sighed aggravated; the detective was learning to play the game now. "I enjoyed research."

"And what about your little magic trick?"

Rolling his eyes, "It's called _deduction_. It's not a _trick_. It's skill."

"Ever want to become an officer?"

"_Christ, No_."

"Well then, why have this 'skill'?"

Sherlock shifted in his seat uncomfortably and twisted his wrists in his cuffs nervously.

"Here," Lestrade said, "let me get those off for you." Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a set of keys, undoing the handcuffs he took them off and placed them on the table between the both of them.

A moment of silence passed as Sherlock Holmes looked up at the detective with astonishment. He'd uncuffed him without hesitance. Without worry. Without treating Sherlock like a disease.

Who was this Lestrade and how was it he was even able to surprise Sherlock?

"So," Lestrade continued as if the dynamics had now become casual, "What do you want to do with your special skill then if not to help people?"

"Helping people is boring. What am I to benefit from the boring issues of others. No one is interesting. Everyone is ordinary. And my deductions have done very little well for me in the past. If I were to go into deductions it would be on my _own _terms… and no one is willing to hire, accept, or appreciate that and the skills themselves."

Lestrade cleared his throat and closed the folder, knowing that his last comment was unfortunately right. His boss would never consider hiring this man for anything no matter how great the skill. "Sherlock, you clearly have an interesting background… greatly contrasts with who you are now. So answer me this- why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Be more specific." His eyes burned with sarcasm.

"Answer the question."

Shrugging, "Bored."

"Bored?" Lestrade questioned, "No… no that's not it. That's not why." He challenged. "No one hurts themselves the way you have for the past year without good reason. Your life catch up with you after you graduated? Past memories haunting you? …lonely maybe?"

Sherlock Holmes looked back at Lestrade with eyes so cold they could freeze the room.

_Knock knock knock. _

The men sat silent. Neither moved or released their eye contact, ignoring the knocks on the window.

"_That'll be for me_." Sherlock said slowly with quiet demand.

Lestrade left the room into the viewing room closing the door behind him and was surprised to see a man he'd never seen in his life standing before him.

"Sorry, but without an officer or detective, you can't be back here." Lestrade said.

The man smiled coolly, his voice rich and soft, "I'm sure I can."

"And you are?"

"Mycroft Holmes. That man you have in there is my unfortunate younger brother."

"Ah." Lestrade said hesitantly. Usually when family members of the arrested came in there was more of a dramatic fit, but Lestrade was surprised to see Mycroft Holmes completely casual and cool. The detective realized this was a family trait. "Yes well, he's under arrest for drug possession and being under the influence."

"Yes, I know. Interesting isn't it? How someone like him would do something so _vulgar_?" Mycroft turned to look through the mirror, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "My younger brother never had a very nice reality. In some ways I can't blame him from trying to run away from everything- even from himself. When we were younger I never really helped the situation much either. Old scored, you see."

A moment of silence passed, and the detective decided he had to ask the question he'd never get answer to. "What happened to make him choose to do all of this?"

Mycroft looked back at the man curiously.

"I mean…" Lestrade continued. "What about your parents? Your mum is obviously worried since he snapped at me for even mentioning her… what about your dad? Any sort of influence there?"

And much to his surprise, Mycroft replied coldly with a bitter smile, "That's _exactly _what happened, Detective."

His answer did little to clear Lestrade's inquiry, but it seemed the Holmes brothers did little to answer much about themselves.

"My younger brother may very well kill himself soon. He's well on his way in that direction. He see's this as only a bump in the road. You see living is _boring _to him. There's only one thing that ever really spiked his interest and that's brought him nothing but trouble- so you see why he chooses to avoid said _talent._"

"So… what do we do then? Just let him go? Let him go back?"

"Big brother!" Sherlock shouted, his voice echoing. Both men looked to the mirror to look at him. His head lulled back, he could feel his eyes swelling from the combination of sleep deprivation and the lull of the heroine, "I'm running low. I'd like to get my check now. It's MY trust fund, you know. I want it back in my name!" He slurred and demanded like a child, stomping his foot.

Mycroft paused, "I know you have a bit of a case on your hand, with the missing woman."

Lestrade looked at the eldest Holmes brother with equal astonishment as he had with the younger before, "how did you know-"

"Sherlock can help you find her. In fact he knows where she is, I'm sure."

"Do _you_ know where she is?"

Mycroft smiled with closed lips, "I'm not the one who's help you're going to need."

"He won't help me. No, not unless I give him what he wants."

"…Well then, I suppose we'll just have to make him a proposition, won't we?"

* * *

Sherlock stared at the men in silence. Lestrade sat before him and the other stood in the corner, twirling his umbrella coolly.

"Whatever it is you're offering, I won't accept."

"Yes," Mycroft spoke threateningly, "You will."

Sherlock glared at his older brother incredulously.

"Sherlock," Lestrade sighed, leaning in, "Here's the deal- you will be able to go free."

"Obvious."

"AND… you'll get your trust fund and have it handed over to you fully and legally in your name- relinquishing any and all control Mycroft has over your use of it."

Sherlock looked back at the man conspicuously, "And? What do I have to do?"

"Detox." Mycroft said. "Then go with Lestrade, _show_ him where the woman is located."

"And what, bring her _justice?_" Sherlock chuckled sarcastically.

"No, you won't have to do that bit, you can help with that if you like though I'm sure you won't. Others really are the least of your worries." Mycroft bit.

"Hm, the irony of those words coming out of your mouth." Sherlock bit back.

"No, listen," Lestrade said interrupting the brother's spat. "just detox, tell us where she is, go with us to find her. You don't have to help in keeping her safe or anything that happens afterwards- that's fine."

"How about I do the second half only, you know the part where I just _tell_ you where she is. And no to the detox or the mini-vacation." Sherlock demanded.

Lestrade shook his head. "No, I can't hire or have anyone help with a case if they're under the influence, I'll be fired for sure. And you have to come along, I can't just send my detectives out on a chase with no one to be held accountable. It's the only way."

"… and then?"

"And then, when we come back from fetching her, hopefully with the woman in tow, you get your full trust fund. And you can… go off and do what you like."

Sherlock looked coldly at Mycroft, why was he suddenly giving him the opportunity to have what he's wanted back for the past two years? But Sherlock didn't care why, he saw no flaw in the plan. "My full trust fund." He demanded in question.

Mycroft tilted his head in reply, "In your name. I'll even throw an contract in there saying I never have control of it even in your death."

Sherlock looked between both men before allowing his eyes to settle on Lestrade's face.

"Deal."

* * *

Closing the bedroom door behind him, Mycroft turned to Lestrade who stood in awe of the grand estate he was in in the outskirts of London.

"This is a lovely home you have here," The detective commented, Mycroft smirked but didn't acknowledge the compliment.

"Come back in three days and it'll be out of his system."

"Alright, yeah you just make sure he doesn't get any."

Mycroft smiled grimly, "I've been through this before with my younger brother. Mummy will be happy to know Sherlock's trying to get help again- even if he plans on it only being for him to go back to the lifestyle afterwards."

Lestrade spoke hopefully, "Well… we don't know that for sure."

"No, we don't. …That all depends on you, detective."

"Me?" He replied astonished, "How does this depend on me?"

"My brother and you seem to have already formed some sort of an attachment that I can't seem to explain. He sought you out to try and help that hooker lady of his, which is something I've never seen him do before. You're an influence on him now, and I'm quite certain he's influenced you as well."

Even Lestrade could deny any of that. It seemed this Holmes brother had deduction skills of his own as well. "So… what do you want from me?"

"I want you to let him look at everything- expose the case entirely to him when you leave."

"Ah," Lestrade shook his head, "No, I can't do that. He's not an officer. He's just a consultant-"

"Yes you can. And you _will_." Mycroft demanded casually.

"…What is it you do in the government again, Mister Holmes?"

"I need you to expose the case to him so he can feel the thrill of deduction again. To feel the thrill of solving puzzles as he once did. So he can see that it doesn't only bring bad things to himself and other- but that it can also do good and that it can still invigorate him. It'll help you in return so in the words of my younger brother- _win/win._ The only way we have a chance of him coming out of this with any intention to change is if we give him a reason to." He looked at the detective pointedly, "you give him any way to find that reason, Detective. Or else we'll lose him for good this time."

Mycroft's use of the word _we _was enough to change the status of Detective Lestrade's life. Having only just met both men less than 24 hours ago- it seemed he was now involved with the aspect of the young mans life in everyway possible.

And for some strange reason, whether it was the excitement of him or this sudden need to want to be included in his life and take care of him, being in Sherlock Holmes' life was exactly where Greg Lestrade wanted to be.

* * *

On the third day, the detox hit its hardest.

His nurse, who had been brought in under the utmost discretion wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead with a cold towel. His skin was freezing and pale, his eyes clear as diamonds as he lay on the bed, looking at the high white ceiling that was blurring into nothingness. The curtains were drawn, it was the afternoon but the light hurt his eyes. Everything hurt now, even his skin ached.

Sherlock moaned loudly and arched his back before hitting back on the bed, growling he pleaded for the hundredth time, "_give me some_." He gasped looking at his wide-eyed nurse who sat on the bed facing next to him. _"please…" _

"Uhm… no." She said softly. "I can't. I don't have any."

"Oh come on!" He shouted angrily, "You're a nurse don't tell me you don't have anything in that silly little bag of yours other than towels and stupid comforts."

"I- I'm not a nurse, actually."

"Christ, you're not?" Sherlock couldn't help but pounce on her obvious innocence in order to hurt her- to get her away from him, to leave him alone. "Then what the hell are you doing here?"

His hands began to shake and she took notice, deciding she needed to keep his attentions elsewhere, her curiosity got the bet of her. "I'm just here to make some extra money, I'm still in school studying. Got 3 more years left then I'll be right on my way out of medical school!"

Her happy demeanor and sparkling smile made him nauseous.

"_Fascinating_." He spat in sarcasm.

"What have you been up to, then? What… what did you do to get here?"

"That's none of your business. **Oh FUCK-** It's boiling hot in here!" In an instant Sherlock kicked the covers off of his legs and tugged his sweaty shirt off.

With his wet chest finally exposed to the cool air, he sighed.

"Oh… uhm…" She stuttered, "Alright then. That's fine."

Sherlock looked at her curiously, he noticed the look in her eye- the blush on her cheeks as she tried not to look down at him. A smirk came to his face, this was his ticket out of here.

Shocking her, she felt his shaking hand grab her own and squeeze it. She looked at his face with wide eyes. His perfect face- that even with the redness of his eyes, the extra pale skin, and his sunken in cheeks from the lack of eating- he still looked better to her than she could handle.

"What's your name?" He inquired softly.

"Molly, Molly Hooper."

"Well, Miss Hooper…" Sherlock's thumb began to trace circles on the inside of her wrist, he could feel her pulse quicken and tremors run through her as he did so. "I'll give you whatever it is you want from me- if you just give me what I want from you."

Her eyebrows furrowed together and she spoke with confusion, "Uhm… excuse me?"

He tugged on her arm impatiently, forcing her to lean forward until her face was mere inches away from his own, "You can _have me_." He enunciated his eyes burning into hers, "_Just give me what I_ _want_."

Molly understood clearly now. He picked up on her. Mycroft had told her that was his specialty.

Pulling her arm out of his grasp, no matter how much she wanted to leave it there, Molly leaned back and away from him and spoke firmly, "No." She shook her head, "I'd only be hurting you."

"Let me take care of myself!" He growled impatiently to no one in particular.

"Why because you've done such a great job as it is?" Molly countered passionately. This man, this brilliant handsome man was killing himself and she couldn't help but be angry at him for it. "You're a mean person who tries to hurt others just so you don't have to focus on your own sad circumstances that you've placed _yourself_ in!"

Breathing heavily, Sherlock looked up at her surprised that those blunt words had come out of that soft spoken young girl. And perhaps, just a little bit impressed. His temper calmed quickly as he spoke with light humour, "…Is that what they teach you to say to a patient in medical school?"

"I don't need to worry about that I'm not training to be a doctor, I want to be a pathologist."

"Hmm…" he said curiously with a light smile on, "prefer the company of the dead then? There's one thing we both have in common."

Molly was surprised at his light-hearted comment and smiled back.

Then it hit.

Gritting his teeth suddenly, Sherlock felt a painful lurch in his stomach, his blood was boiling again as were his eyes. Water came out of them subconsciously as the pain flooded him in an ultimate high, "Oh god!" He exclaimed moaning and kicking his legs, closing his eyes he felt himself begin to sob, "No no no… please. Just end it, please just end it…"

His insides were on fire. His skin felt as if it was being ripped off of his muscles and as if his muscles were being ripped off of his bones.

"It's alright…" Molly said softly, placing another cold towel against his head. "It'll be alright. We're almost through, this is the worst of it."

Sherlock pulled away and began to heave, his chest shooting up and down as he gasped for deep breaths- Molly knew all too well what this meant. Immediately grabbing the empty bucket on the table she put it next to his face. Not a moment later did Sherlock lean over and vomit into it his stomach acid, due to the fact that he hadn't ate for days.

When he finished he gasped for air. Putting the bucket away, Molly wiped his face and watched as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

"Molly… Molly…" he repeated over and over breathlessly.

She felt her heart pound in her chest at the sound of her name coming out of his mouth. "Y-yes?"

With his eyes still closed, he replied after a moments pause mumbling beneath his breath, "You should wear pink shaded lipstick, not nude." Before he fell into a deep sleep.

Molly looked down at the stranger, utterly astonished and said softly to his unconscious body the only thing that could come to her mind,

"Uhm… okay."

* * *

**PHEW! Hope you all enjoyed my thoughts on younger drug-adicted Sherlock and what he would be like. **

**Part 2 of the flashback is coming up hopefully soon! **

**Please do comment :) **


	4. A Study in Youth- Part 2

**Something that's happening: I've started to do request-fics for money cause I'm broke and need to make ends meet, lol. So I've been getting a lot of those lately that I'm having to focus on as well which explains why there were so many typos in the last chapter. I'm so sorry about that. **

**BETA: I will not now, nor will I ever put this series on the backburner. It's still my top priority. So what I'm going to do is I'm on the lookout for getting a BETA who is dedicated, quick, and is really good. That way the chapters can be here MUCH quicker and done with much better editing than I've been having time for. Each of these chapters is from 15-25 pages so you can see how much work that is on top of the other requests I'm writing and you guys all only deserve the best so yeah, this is the plan right now. **

**If you know any possible beta's or you yourself are interested- please let me know and message me! You'll get to read the chapters a day or 2 early! lol**

**And also if you're interested in me doing a request fic- let me know! I'll also hopefully have more info on genres and what sort of fics, lengths etc. and I'll post it in the beginning of the next chapter! :)**

**Quickly, just a few replies: **

**Midnight Valentina, sailormajinmoon****, ****Empress of Verace, and Gwilwillith: sdjhgdflugdshljhgdskjhgdfluy gdfsjhbdfkjhgdfskjhbsdfkhgfs dkjhbdsfkjhbdsfkjhbdfskjhgbd fskjhbdsfkjhbfdskjhb **

**And I really mean it with all my heart.**

* * *

**IMPORTANT: This part is not rated M. Back to the usual T rating :) **

**Part 2: **

* * *

**The Plane.**

That had been simple enough.

Quite simple.

No, _too_ simple.

Lestrade looked curiously to the man sitting on the right of him, looking out the window at the ocean beneath them intently.

"You seem normal."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed at the comment, "You seem annoying. Which means you seem normal as well."

"No, I mean it…" Greg continued, "You… you're so different. Do you realize how different you are when you're not on something?"

Sherlock paused for a moment, "_Not quite._ Don't forget," he sighed still keeping his attentions to the view of the bright sky, "I've been quite 'out of it' for the past year. I can't remember much of myself, you see. So no. Not really. Why, am I _kinder_?"

"No, not at all actually. You're… the same amount of mean. Probably even more so because now you're, you know- sober so can't just be like 'oh it's from the drugs' anymore whenever you shovel out another insult."

Shrugging with a sigh he replied carelessly, "Can't help it you're all idiots."

"You're more calm now. More stoic. More reserved. More… you. I guess. Yeah, you're more you."

"Wow," Sherlock sighed with sarcasm, "truly, you must write poetry."

Lestrade actually founding himself smiling, amused at Sherlock's quick wit.

They'd arrived in Florida only 6 days prior. Sherlock seemed to know exactly where the woman was simply based on his theory that her own husband had kidnapped her and one of his banking accounts was set up in Florida. _Boringly simple._ Sherlock had said only days after coming out of his detox. But there was only one thing that had plagued Lestrade's mind-

"How did you know her husband had done it?" He asked suddenly, Sherlock looked at him finally, " I mean, yeah he had a bank account in Florida but that's because he traveled there regularly for work. …How did you know?"

"Because," Sherlock said nonchalantly, "he abused her. Quite regularly. As you already know by now-"

"Yes but how did you know _that,_ I mean."

"Did you _see _the state of their flat? Clues everywhere to indicate that was a violent, dark place to live. Not only that but he was involved with '_pharmaceuticals_' and given his obvious connections and choices of their locations that he was using his expertise and title as a cover for drug trafficking. This time it was clear she said no, that she wasn't going along to Florida, so he used more forceful measures. And that's the end of it."

"Well then… you're not a bad person to have around in a sticky situation. That's quite incredible what you do there."

"Only if I benefit from it." Sherlock mumbled.

"Well not quite." Lestrade said with a clever smile, Sherlock looked at him as if he were mad, absolutely disliking the sentiment that Sherlock helped others freely.

"_Excuse me?_"

"Martha over there-" Lestrade looked across the aisles. Both men looked at the older woman who was sitting next to a female detective, being consoled as she cried silently into a tissue.

"Does she ever stop sniveling?" Sherlock mumbled under his breath tiredly.

"You didn't have to do what you did."

"And what's that?"

"Ensure her husbands execution. Like I said- you following through on any charges wasn't part of the deal."

Sherlock paused and looked at Lestrade stoically, "It's not my choice that in Florida drug trafficking is a capitol offense punishable by death."

"Yeah but we weren't going to let that happen- we were just going to take him back to England and spare his life but charge him with kidnapping and abuse- but _you _are the one that ensured him to be charged there, and therefore, basically, had him killed."

"I was bored."

"No you weren't," Greg shook his head and smiled, "you loved this case, I could tell. And you wanted to help her. To protect her from all of the horrible unspeakable things he did to her. …So you did."

The two men stared at each other. One with a tender smile, the other one with fire in his eyes.

"That foolish _sentiment _won't help you once you get promoted, detective." Sherlock turned back away to look out the window once more, "you read far too much into my dealings. And quite inaccurately so."

"You don't read enough into them." Lestrade mumbled in disagreement. A comment Sherlock chose to ignore. "So…" He attempted to change the subject to perhaps try and learn a little bit more about this mysterious man whom he knew almost nothing about, "the detox was successful obviously. I heard that this has been hard on your mother… she'll be glad to know you're on the mend-"

"You know **_nothing_** of my mother," Sherlock spat, his demeanor angry as he turned to look at the detective with fire and spoke darkly, "_so you'd do well not to speak of her_."

"Al… aright." Lestrade replied. Clearly his initial assumption that Sherlock's parents were a sticky subject was correct. Sherlock turned back to the window and calmed himself.

"And I hope you or my _dear brother _are not planning on telling her," He continued, "you'll only break her heart when she finds it was all just to walk out of New Scotland Yard with my full trust fund and a list of mentionables."

It took a moment for Lestrade to realize the full extent of what it was Sherlock was suggesting, "You're not… _seriously _thinking of going back to the way you were before."

Shrugged, "Why not. Nothing interesting for me outside of it. Boring."

"But… but after all of the stuff you had to go through! The horrid week of detox, and everything you can do when you're sober- you're willing to throw that all away just for the sake of _being interested?_"

"You clearly don't know me at all, detective," Sherlock looked at Lestrade's disappointed face and spoke plainly, "I'd do a lot more than just that to not be bored."

* * *

**New Scotland Yard**

**The Next Day. **

"I believe congratulations are in order," Mycroft said, shaking the hand of recently promoted, now _Detective Inspector _Lestrade.

"Yes, well," He smiled, "perfect timing I think, with the case your brother helped with, and my boss' retirement, it just all worked out."

"Yes," Sherlock said carelessly, walking in the room, "Seems it has."

"Sherlock." Mycroft acknowledged grimly. It was strange seeing his brother so put together, especially when he knew it may very well only be temporary

"Where is it." Sherlock demanded.

"Right here," Mycroft motioned towards the table. On it sat an official document of entitlement towards Sherlock's half of the trust and a closed bag of his confiscated drugs, "as promised."

Sherlock picked up the bag placing it under his arm and snatched the papers, checking them over.

"I already signed them." Mycroft said, but that didn't stop Sherlock from sifting through each one just to make sure. "You know… I like you better this way."

"Well then," Sherlock said, satisfied with the documents and looked at his brother coldly, "feel free to mention that to father. I really do feel like it's time you both had a new subject to discuss regarding myself other than the obvious, don't you think?"

Bitterness spread across the elder Holmes' face. Lestrade stared back and forth between the two brothers having no idea what was happening.

Satisfied he'd kept the status-quo, Sherlock turned to leave, "Good afternoon."

"Wait!" Lestrade shouted, but Sherlock continued on his way.

Running outside into the hallway, Lestrade caught up with the man and stopped him in his tracks. "What!" Sherlock shouted aggravated. "I've gotten what I came for."

"No, I know it's just that-"

"What? I'm done _deducing_ for you, Detective Inspector."

"I know it's just I almost forgot," Greg said, "There's someone who wants to see you before you leave."

* * *

Being led into the interrogation room, once more Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to Lestrade, "If I'm going to get another worthless lecture I'm going to-"

But his words were cut off as he saw the little woman, Martha Hudson, slowly walk her way into the room with eyes glossy and arms wide.

"What the hell is this?" Sherlock spat beneath his breath looking between the woman and the inspector.

"It's you…" Martha said softly looking up at him. The bruises on her cheeks, the scars on her arms, the violent red rings around her neck- all of the reminiscent of the hell she'd lived through visible to Sherlock's eyes. They were things he found he didn't want to see. Not now. Not again. "You're the young man that saved me from my husband..."

Sherlock's eyes were wide at the old woman. Lestrade stood with worry in his eyes, just hoping that Sherlock wouldn't pounce on the woman in his usual manner. And perhaps, just _maybe _him seeing her would work.

"Yes, well…" Sherlock pushed out of his mouth, not knowing what to say. "I had no choice, you see. It was the only way to get my trust fund and my drugs back-" He spoke casually and held up the bag, "See? So, I'll be on my way-"

But just as he tried to cut around her- Martha Hudson had one up on him and somehow had wrapped her arms around his back and placed her cheek against his chest with a smile on her face stopping him dead cold in his tracks.

Slowly Sherlock looked up at Lestrade as if he was going to commit many murders- and the first would be his. His arms hung uselessly at his sides, the bag and papers lazily in his hand. Many seconds had passed but the woman, who in Sherlock's point of view, had absolutely no shame in how uncomfortable she was making him as she made no indication of pulling away from his straightened hard chest.

"Thank you. And allow me to make you my famous biscuits sometime, you'll love them!" Finally, Sherlock let out a sigh as she pulled away; looking up at him Martha looked at the young man pointedly, "Don't get used to them though if you do, I'm not a walking bakery you know." With a smile she placed her hands on his shoulders and admired his youthful face, "You know, I never had any children but should I have had a son… I think he'd be something like you."

It was strange. Her face as she spoke those words wasn't filled with distain it was filled with… _pride_.

…_For him._

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed many times like a fish without water before sighing and settling on the only thing he only honest thing he could comprehend to say, "you talk far too much for my liking, Mrs. Hudson."

Expecting another bout of tears, Sherlock was shocked when the woman broke out into laughter.

"Oh dear me, that is me, I'm afraid!" She looked back at Sherlock and placed her hand upon his arm, "Now dear, would you like me to walk you out? Though it is dreadfully cold outside I'll just grab my coat?"

Sherlock's eyes travelled between Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade many times before he spoke with stoic coldness, "No. And just to be entirely clear-" his attention now focused entirely on Lestrade, "I don't care. I cared about my own deductions. My own pleasure from it. I enjoyed that case for the chase, for the puzzle- not for _this woman_."

"Well," Lestrade said nodding "I do believe you on that. I believe you want it all for the puzzle, the excitement- I know. But you inadvertently helped someone, and you can help others with your gift and still have your interesting puzzles! You can do both at the same-"

"I don't _care_ to do both at the same time."

"Well then just do the first." Lestrade exclaimed with obviousness, " Just do it all for the thrill of the puzzles- No one will hold you accountable if any good actually comes from it, don't worry."

Silence filled the room.

"…You could be a great man, Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade continued, "And one day, maybe, if you _ever actually_ _do _start caring about other people… you'll be a good one too."

A moment of silence passed, Lestrade's words hanging heavy in the air. Martha Hudson looked between both men, having no idea what was going on or what they were talking about.

It then only took a second for Sherlock to cut past Martha Hudson and Greg Lestrade and leave New Scotland Yard with no intention of coming back or seeing either of them again.

* * *

**The Home of Greg Lestrade.**

**3:12 am. **

"No, no," Greg sighed as he felt his wife leave the bed, "I'll get it."

As usual, he was one step behind her. Hearing a pounding on the front door at 3 in the morning, but his wife, as he knew, was fearless and careless about many things. Just as he was putting his pants on she came walking back into the bedroom with a scowl on her face, "It's for you. Some asshole."

Lestrade's ears, for the first time perhaps ever, perked up happily at the word 'asshole', there was only one person she could be referring to.

"Sherlock," He commented as he reached the opened front door, trying to hide his giddy smile.

The young man standing outside of it stared at the inspector detective with a scowl on his face.

"Do you want to come in? It's freezing out there-"

"Shut up." Sherlock snapped. "We need to talk."

"uh yeah sure-"

"I'll help you alone whenever you're out of your depth. So **only **the burstingly _interesting_ ones that you're all too stupid to figure out. Nothing else. No sob stories."

It took a moment for Lestrade to process the sudden information, "Can I… can I asked what's changed your mind?"

Glaring his eyes, Sherlock drawled out from between his teeth, "No."

Greg Lestrade realized that in the end he supposed it didn't matter, all that mattered was that Sherlock was there. And he would just have to get used to working with, and perhaps being a friend to a man who he would know very little about. "Alright, anything else?"

"Yes, I don't want to be paid. I don't need incentive and want to remind you- unlike the display you created today, that I am only in it for the thrill, understood? You thinking I'm in it for any sentiment will only disappoint you in the end, detective."

His words were definitive and honest. Lestrade knew they were true as well. All of his hopes of Sherlock one day becoming a good man dashed.

"Yes. Alright, understood. Anything else?"

"Yes," Sherlock raised an eyebrow and paused , "tomorrow afternoon we'll sit down and I'll be giving you information on the runnings of that prostitution underground you found me in weeks ago. The information will be enough to put away the two men running it in jail for quite some time. As for the women- I'm going to need your idiotic sentiment to assure me that none of them are taken into prison. And instead are put into social rehabilitation programs."

Well, perhaps not _all _dashed.

"Oh don't give me that look," Sherlock spat, "I told you, I'm simply repaying debts. They did a lot for me this past year, all of them. I'm sure bringing me back from the brink of death more than once, I owe something to be repaid."

Lestrade nodded his head solemnly, "alright Sherlock. But you have to do something for me-"

"Your hardly in any position." Sherlock mumbled with an eye roll.

Lestrade spoke pointedly, "Stay clean, Sherlock. Alright? Stay clean. The moment you go back on anything is the moment I pull out all availability of the cases from right under you. And I don't care how desperate I am, I'll do it." He warned, "Stay clean."

It took Sherlock a moment to answer, the twitching in his left hand an indication of the cravings that were still eating away at him, "fine." Sherlock mumbled. "But then I need someone to work with. Bounce off my ideas. And quite possibly, although this is a tall order- someone who's not an idiot."

"Alright." Lestrade nodded his head, "Alright, I'll take a look in forensics, see who's been reassigned there, that might be our best bet."

"I won't get my hopes up."

"So," Lestrade finalized happily, we're in an agreement then! Anything else, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at him intently and took a deep breath, "Yes," He spoke casually, "Your wife is cheating on you with her piano tutor." Sherlock smiled proudly, "Evening." And walked away leaving Lestrade to stare at his disappearing form with shock etched all over his face.

* * *

**Mycroft Holmes's Home**

**3:32 Am **

Lucy walked down the dark street, her legs shaking. Sneaking out of the underground entirely was not a simple task. Because of her perfect rap-sheet the pimps running it were certain she'd come back. Little did they know she held a letter in her hand; a letter, that was so simple in its contents- yet held all of her freedom.

_Only Sherlock Holmes could convince me to do this. _She thought. The fear still gripped her savagely even as she stood in front of the large fancy home before her. She'd never been to this part of London, she'd never even known Sherlock had a brother let alone a rich one.

Lifting a shaky finger, she rang the doorbell. Her breath hitched in her throat as she saw the light turn on through the window.

_This is never going to work… He's just going to scoff at me and send me away! _

Long had Lucy dreamed of escaping her life as a prostitute, the life she'd had since she was 16. Who knew that her strangest client would be the one to free her. She just thought he was another young man who had dropped out of university and was looking for a rebellious phase. She had no idea he was as… posh as he actually was.

His posh accent had always been covered by the slurring of his drugged voice, his clothes always expensive but a common pair of jeans and a shirt- nothing fancy. Sure he knew a lot but- didn't all young people who'd gone to university even for a little while?

All of Lucy's perceptions about Sherlock Holmes were shattered in one go. One last visit from him no less than 3 hours ago…

"What?" The man opened the door knocking her out of her thoughts. His hair was disheveled, he wore a striped robe and fuzzy slippers.

**_This_**_ is Sherlock's brother? _

Sure they had the same hair but this man was… even icier than Sherlock. He would have been frightening had it not been for the fact that there was nothing frightening about him.

"Can I help you?" He said impatiently, his eyes staring at her. Lucy could see that he recognized her.

_"He'll know who you are when you get there. But he won't be expecting you."_ Sherlock had told her.

"Y-yes, I'm Lucy-"

"Yes I know who you are."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her fear now gone and given way to her inability to stand for rudeness.

"Excuse you," She said, "I know who _you_ are as well- Mycroft Holmes. Though I hafta say it wasn't your looks that gave you away- you're no where _near _half as good looking as your younger brother. "

Mycroft's face scrunched disapprovingly, Lucy felt satisfaction at her sudden effect on him.

"Very well, Miss Meyers please let me know what it is my brother sent you here to bother me with at 3 in the morning."

Lucy handed him the letter silently. Sighing Mycroft opened it. Lucy had no idea what it said, but her curiosity didn't get the best of her. She trusted whatever Sherlock wrote to his older brother it would be just what was needed.

'_Mycroft, _

_This is Lucy. She was a prostitute. Now she's not. With me so far? Feel free to go back and read again if I'm going too fast for you. _

_Find her help. Therapy, social reform and such first thing in the morning. But only the best, don't be cheap. Let this country actually do something to help out one of its own for once. Make sure when she's let go to one of the organizations that they'll take care of her. _

_For tonight feed her, clothe her, and let her stay in the guest bedroom._

_She's saved my life more than once. I owe her._

_I'm staying clean now. Tell mummy. Employed with Detective Inspector Lestrade part-time. Also starting up my own site eventually. Not getting paid by the way. And not an invitation for you to bother me with your idiotic 'cases' for queen and country. Not interested. _

_P.S. You've gained weight. _

_SH ' _

By the end Mycroft had rolled his eyes twice. Sighing he folded it back up and placed it in the pocket of his robe.

"Oh!" Lucy remembered pulling out yet another paper, "And he told me to give you this."

Mycroft took the second paper, it was familiar. He was shocked he was getting it back. Opening it his assumptions were right- they were the deeds to Sherlock's trust fund as had been promised relinquishing all power from Mycroft and giving it to Sherlock as he'd requested.

Still signed by Mycroft. _Unsigned _by Sherlock.

A note was attached:

'_Only temporary. A safety measure for the next year or so. 500 pounds a week should do it. _

_This doesn't change a thing between us._

_P.S. May I recommend weight watchers? I hear their point system is quite effective. _

_SH '_

Lucy watched silently as Mycroft folded up the last paper and placed it in the same pocket. This time, when he looked at her- it wasn't with disgust. Instead, it was with forced tolerance.

_Well at least there's a start. _

"Well then," He smiled with a closed mouth, accentuating his large nose, "Miss Lucy. Please do come in. It seems you and I have a lot of work to do."

Lucy hesitated, "How do I know you're not just going to send me back?"

"You and I may not be even from remotely the same circles but… it's the least I can do for my younger brother. I haven't done much right by him. You see, he thinks I am his arch enemy."

Lucy raised an eyebrow at the strange description, "Are you?"

Mycroft looked at her, perhaps slightly impressed by her blunt curiosity, now he knew why Sherlock could stand her company over everyone else's- even if just for a little bit. "I was in the past. But things change. My relationship towards him has changed. He just doesn't see that. …Yet. Hopefully."

"If what you did to him was so bad, why don't you just say sorry?" She suggested.

Mycroft Holmes smirked condescendingly, as if the notion itself was even laughable, "Please miss, come in."

This time, Lucy did not hesitate as she walked up the steps with Mycroft Holmes motioning her in.

* * *

**PRESENT.**

**221B. **

**4:14pm. **

Sherlock Holmes sat in his chair doing what he rarely did- reminiscing about the past. Something he only did when his dark past seemed bright compared to his present. But soon, tomorrow- this would all be over.

Tonight was the last night 221B would be running on only one person.

His homeless network found the site Madeline was in. 7 days flat it took them. But they found it. Mycroft confirmed it. That was all there was to it. And tomorrow- this would all end.

Clutching his phone in one hand and his violin in the other, Sherlock plucked at the out of tune string.

"Sherlock?"

Oh, he'd forgotten he was there.

"Feel free to go home now, Detective inspector." Sherlock said looking into the fire, "We're done for now."

"Yes but what about-"

"Nothing to discuss, Lestrade." Finally Sherlock looked at the hesitant man who sat in John's chair, that sight irked Sherlock. "Go home to your wife. Or should I say, soon to be ex-wife? Signing those divorce papers this weekend are you?'

Greg sighed and rolled his eyes, "Yes, alright, I just don't think you should be alone tonight."

"While I'm flattered, Lestrade, I'm afraid I'll be far too busy to allow you to warm my bed for the night."

Greg actually snorted at Sherlock's sarcasm as he got up, "Alright then, I'll be out of your hair. I'll see you tomorrow then?"

Sherlock didn't answer him as Lestrade left 221B, making sure to give Mrs. Hudson a kiss and quietly telling her to 'keep an eye' on him. Sherock would have rolled his eyes, but it was probably a good idea. The flat got silent once more, his eyes shifting to the safe that remained sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room. Curiosity, Sherlock was certain, had _almost _gotten the best of him.

The urge to open it now was strong. He knew what was in that safe- quite correctly. And what was in there would either confirm his theory (which he was quite certain it would) or it wouldn't. But it wasn't his job to open it. No. It was hers. She had to figure it out. But in order to do that, he had to go out to bring her back.

_Where she belongs. _

But the nagging feeling in his stomach knew she would not want to stay at 221B any longer after this ordeal. So far, all efforts to protect her and been foiled by Moran. So what was the point of her being here?

Sherlock knew what his reasoning was. And not just the fact that everywhere he looked- reminders of John and Madeline echoed through every inch of the flat, but because he... _felt _for her. Loved her.

A frightening concept. One he never thought was possible.

First John.

Then Madeline.

Twice this has happened.

This… _love_.

Then again, he never thought it was possible for him to ever be in this position. For all the things Sherlock Holmes was right about, he was wrong about so much more.

_How did I get here? _

But he already knew the answer. That day after returning from Mrs. Hudson's case those 10 years ago- what happened between leaving Scotland Yard and banging at Lestrade's door at 3 in the morning is what changed his life forever.

* * *

**That Evening 10 years Ago.**

**The Underground Ring. **

**Midnight.**

It was their usual weekly appointment time, but Sherlock Holmes knew this would be the last one for himself, and he hoped- for her as well.

"You look…" Lucy said softly, "different."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow as he stood before her. She sat on the bed in the suddenly brightly lit room. Sherlock had liked it to usually be dark and dim in the past, she'd gotten the feeling that he didn't like her seeing him, but when he entered her room and closed the door behind him, all of the lights were turned on at his request. And even more interesting- he'd walked in empty handed. Sans his usual pack of _supplies. _

"Do I?'

"Yes," she replied before adding, "you _are _different."

He was. It was like he'd grown up the week he'd been gone. His jeans and messy shirt were replaced with a suit and dress shirt and a long heavy coat. His hair was no longer shaggy but instead in orderly waves, his eyes no longer blood shot, and his voice… well, it was no longer slurred to say the least. She never knew the man to be so articulate and well spoken. Sherlock Holmes wasn't a 20-something year old boy who was lost anymore- somehow, throughout the past week, he'd found himself and had become a man.

"Better?" He inquired.

"Yes," She smiled sadly, "better for you but sad for me. I know this is your last visit." She began to slowly lay back on the bed, readying herself- hoping that he would at least pleasure her one last time, but her hopes were dashed as he sat next to her on the bed and pulled her back up.

"Lucy…"

"No I know," she closed her eyes frustrated, running her fingers through her strawberry hair, "It's… I know. I suppose I was just hoping to _actually_ have you once before I never see you again."

Sherlock's intense eyes looked at her, she could no longer read his emotions as she used to. Her suggestion for them to finally have sex had somehow managed to catch the man off guard even a little bit. This disappointed her, to him it was the last thing on his mind- to her when she saw him it was the first. Lucy couldn't help it, this strange creature had taken a part of her heart with him.

"I'm sorry." He said bluntly. "I'm so sorry but I…"

"Won't?"

"Can't." he corrected. "It's not you. It's me."

Rolling her eyes, "Like I haven't heard that before."

"I'm well aware that's become somewhat of a cliché but you know me and know I am not that. I mean it, sincerely. I can't because I'm not here to take advantage of you… I'm here to help you."

"I told you I don't need help." Lucy shook her head softly, " and how is it taking advantage when I want it?"

"Because it would be one-sided." Sherlock looked at her plainly, "You know that."

"Well it doesn't mean I'm just going to do what you say." She snapped. His words hurt her but she didn't blame either of themselves as they were only finally saying what they both knew. "So you don't… find me attractive then? Silly me, after all the times you made me feel things no one else has-"

"I never said that. I'm saying… it's not my area."

"And what is your area, Mister Holmes?" Lucy said pointedly, purposefully using the title she'd never even uttered before. Crossing her arms as she mocked the sound of his posh voice. Before he was just her 'Sherlock' or even on occasion when he had snorted enough he'd let her get away with calling him 'Sherly' _"but only on special occasions"_ he'd slur. But now, his voice, his words- so polished, so articulate. She could feel their classes she had no idea had existed between them begin to separate them. So this is who he was then.

Sherlock clenched his jaw. "My work, Lucy."

"Well then," She sighed carelessly, "off you go to it then. Have a nice life."

Lucy stood up to get to the door but didn't get very far as Sherlock grabbed her arm and twisted her around. She looked up at him with wide eyes as his own looked down at her, burning with conflict.

His face was stoic, controlled, yet threatening and it frightened her. At seeing her change in expression, Sherlock softened his, "Don't be an idiot, Lucy. I'm not a clone of who you've seen every week this past year. I cleaned up, just like you wanted, right? And you said you wanted to see who I really am, that'd also what you wanted, right? So don't pin this on me just because you're disappointed that the person I _really_ am isn't somehow still the same guy you knew before-" Sherlock's voice stopped, his hands clutched her shoulders. He looked away for a moment and breathed heavily before looking back into her sad eyes, "…I don't even remember what I was like, Lucy. …I remember everything I've done this past year- everything. But I don't remember who I was. Not a thing and that's because-"

"That wasn't you." Lucy nodded softly finally understanding, "I know. I just, I don't know I thought once you got clean and you… became you that we'd…"

She didn't even say it. She couldn't. It would only hurt her more to acknowledge it out loud- that her hope that Sherlock would finally be with her was never a hope to begin with. It wasn't even a possibility.

She began to laugh bitterly as a tear rolled down her cheek, Sherlock looked away uncomfortably releasing his hands from her shoulders, "maybe if my mother had been a little bit kinder to me, I wouldn't be here in this position now. I wouldn't be here, even."

"You don't have to be, Lucy." Sherlock fished in his pocket and pulled out an envelope handing it to her. Her eyes widened as she opened it to look inside. "There's 1000pounds in there. That should be enough to get you off your feet for now. To start fresh."

Shaking her head she looked up at him astonished, "why are you doing this? Why are you helping me then if you don't… feel things?"

"To repay my debt to you." Sherlock replied, "I told you I remember everything I've done. I overdosed twice and you saved me both times. That's what this is for. Please, forget about me. I'm not good like you think I am. I'm only in it for myself, be certain of that." She could see in his eyes he was being very much honest.

He believed himself and his own words.

Lucy had a small hopeful smile on her face even though she already knew the answer, "Friends then?"

"I'm afraid not." Sherlock's harsh voice left no room for argument. "I don't have friends. And I certainly don't want any."

She looked at him incredulously, "you don't _want_ any friends?" The real Sherlock it seemed was even more mad than the last version.

"Certainly not, why would I?" He looked at her like she was absolutely mad.

"Because they're… they're everything. They protect you-"

"No. They're only a weakness." Sherlock spoke with certainty, but nothing he said could change her mind. Lucy always had hope.

"You'll find a friend one day Sherlock Holmes…" The little clever smile on her face, "and you're going to fall for him _so hard_ you won't know what hit you. Your whole life will change once you meet him. Then he'll change you."

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, "I find that very doubtful, Lucy."

"You treated me better than the others Sherlock… you taught me to hope again, you know? And I know you want me to have a different one but this is the only life I've ever known…"

"Perhaps it's time you started a new one." He hands her an envelope with an address and a name on it and a second paper with instructions on it to give it to the same person. "Go here. My brother's an absolute moron by the way, but he can help you more than I can. "

"I love you Sherlock." Lucy said suddenly catching him off guard. She stared at him with wide green eyes. As he looked at the girl, Sherlock felt compassion- this was rare. But love? No, love was fleeting. He owed her too much, she'd taken care of him far more than he deserved. Lucy smiled at him, "And I know it's… one sided, as you said but I want you to know that. And I want you to know that even though you are an absolute dick- you're the best man I know."

_What IS it with people today?_ He thought impatiently. It took him a moment to find words to reply with. These sort of instances were something he had never prepared himself for. "Well then, you don't know very good men."

"No, but I know you. And I know you're a good one."

"I'm not good, Lucy. I don't… feel. Like you. I just don't. I'm not good."

"…Maybe not to me. And that's ok. But I believe you feel. One day, maybe, when you find the right friend, when you find the right _girl_…" Sherlock scoffs. " You'll change, Sherlock Holmes. I've seen you almost every week for a year and I'm just meeting you for the first time it feels and… I still don't know you. You're still so hidden. There are layers to you that'll even surprise and shock yourself. And I'll tell you this- under all those layers, I know you're capable of love. That much I know."

Sherlock hadn't even bothered arguing with Lucy, he simply helped her pack and escorted her out of the underground, hailed her a cab, let her kiss him one last time, and sent her away to his brothers. As he watched the taxi go out of sight, he concluded to himself that Lucy was far more bright eyed and dreamy than the average person- and that her words held no truth.

Contrary to the feeling in the back of his chest that told him he knew he would miss her.

* * *

He hadn't seen Lucy since that night, and aside from Mycroft texting him the next day on his then-new phone '_she's taken care of_.' He hadn't known anything about her since. But if Sherlock ran into her today, he'd probably hire her himself because she saw things about him before anyone else even knew him that no one else saw.

John had been that friend. Madeline had been that girl- _is_ that girl.

_John still is that friend. _Sherlock dared to think.

Who knew Lucy had known so much that he couldn't see? She was right, he'd built a family of his own and he hadn't even known it.

Looking through 221b he saw the remnants of them all, a few of Lestrade's stray grey hairs along the chair, Madeline's ballet slippers hanging along the doorhandle, Mrs. Hudson's uneaten scones on the kitchen table…

…John's half drank cup of coffee still next to his chair.

Closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair- tomorrow Sherlock would have to try and put back together the life he'd created.

Tomorrow was the battle. He had to fight for the girl. He'd have to play the perfect part of himself to win against Moran. And the problem was Sherlock was broken beneath the surface. Sherlock's insides had been swept out of him leaving a shell of a man who lost everything that meant anything to him.

This was something he would have to find a way to continue to hide or else Sherlock Holmes would certainly loose.

* * *

**Phew!**

**Next chapter: Sherlock finally gets to MORAN! Madeline! What sort of a state is she in? What has Moran done to her?! Will Sherlock prevail or will his weakness to Madeline and his loss of John crumble beneath the mind games of Moran? You'll find out next chapter- The showdown begins! **

**Comments make me smile like craaazyyy :D **


	5. All Lives End- All Hearts Are Broken

**Got a BETA! It's The-Wordy-Lass and she's fab! Hopefully now the technical errors are to a minimum and the chapters will be going up quicker with all of her lovely help! **

**ALSO- got a Benedict RPF! It's called Drunk/Crush/Batch! (Find it here:AT: archive of our own (dot com) /works/748932/chapters/1397247 )It was a request fic/gift to one of my closest online friends Olivia who has a beautiful gorgeous tumblr and you should all follow her- .com. **

**Thank you to: ****emoprincess37****, LLPottle, ****Empress of Verace**** , ****Majestic-Space-Duck, Midnight Valentina, sailormajinmoon****, and ****Gwilwillith. Your comments are my feels. **

**Onto the chapter! Btw- this is really intense so you've been warned. Not even overplaying, a LOT is going to be happening so be ready! **

* * *

Footsteps could be heard.

Oh yes, today was the day.

"Seems he's found us a bit earlier than expected," Moran spoke to his men, "_a lot_ earlier than expected, actually." He turned to Madeline who lay tied to the same table. "I was hoping to play with you for a bit longer but it seems we have no choice."

Madeline's heart began to beat wildly- he was here. Sherlock was here. She'd spent the past 7 days in total and utter numbness. Even when Moran played his little torture games with her- the pain gave way to the anesthetized state she'd induced herself in. The blank state of mind she eased herself into much like she did during performances. Even the reciting of her favourite literature slowly faded away. All she saw before her was black… until she heard those footsteps.

Self-preservation. That was what Madeline knew to do. It was the only way for her to keep her sanity. This was the only way for her to maintain, to stay as whole of a piece of herself as much as possible until the day he came for her.

And now- today was that day.

Suddenly, as if her consciousness had been turned on, she began to notice the room around her again. Her eyes had been opened before, but she had not seen a thing. She' d almost forgotten what it all looked like. To her right, instruments laid bloody on a metal stand. Certainly those had been used on her in some manner. After Moran had carved '_SHERLOCK_' into her hip, permanently damaging her skin there forever with his name- she'd broken away from noticing what was being done to her. Surely more had been done since then- the red instruments were proof of that- but she pushed that sick reality from her mind.

This vexed Moran greatly and if she'd been listening she would have heard him yell and shout about her being the '_worst torture hostage ever_' as if she weren't even alive. As he'd cut her, taunt her, sliced her- she gave no indication she was aware; only the rise and fall of her chest indicating she was still alive.

Madeline let her eyes fall down and was happy to see she was still in the raggedy dress she'd been in from the beginning. Not surprising though, given Moran's sexual orientation, she was quite certain that the last thing he wanted to see was her naked, let alone do anything sexual to her. At least that much she could be grateful for.

"Oh, my my my, looks who's finally come to life." Sebastian strode towards her. Madeline looked at him with squinted eyes, the lights behind his head too bright but from what she could see, he looked beyond a little bored. "Finally come out of your coma for your hero? Hm? Well, you see he's much more fun to watch dance than you…" Madeline swallowed in fear, knowing he must have had something awful planned for Sherlock, a part of her not wanting him to come at all- to just turn around and leave her be to spare himself the mind games of Sebastian Moran, "There there…" He ran his fingers through her hair making her nauseous, "I have had fun with you this past week. Don't worry. Your were like my live autopsy, and I can't wait for you to walk away and discover the little scars and gifts I've left you." He smiled.

This time Madeline could feel the bile rise in her throat.

"Leave." Moran demanded to his men, standing up. "Wait outside. You know what to do and when. Don't let anyone through."

The men left.

The shoes from the opposite door were echoing through the hallway louder and louder.

"_Sherlock_…" Madeline breathed, his name foreign on her lips.

Finally the door opened and shut. Madeline closed her eyes. She didn't even need to look at him; she could smell the scent that she could never forget from a mile away. He was there.

* * *

Sherlock had cleared his mind with every step he took, getting closer and closer to the door. All of his aching, all of his pain- shut away, not to return to the surface until Moran was no longer a threat and Madeline was in his arms.

But in a cautionary manner- Sherlock Holmes always prepared himself for the worst.

So when he opened the heavy metal door and saw the state of her- his eyes only lingered for a moment before he forced them to lift up to the smiling man who stood next to her laying body, "Sherlock Holmes.

"Doctor Jack?" Sherlock feigned sarcastic surprise, looking around the room in casual observation, "Oh no, it's yooou."

Moran chuckled, "Was that funny? Maddie, did you hear that?" He looked down at the silent girl who's bruised eyes were now open and attached to staring at Sherlock, "Your boyfriend made a joke."

He almost seemed surreal when she first laid eyes on him, as if he'd once been a figment of her imagination. He didn't seem real, but his voice and his scent… they proved to her that he did exist and this time- she wasn't just imagining him before her as she'd been doing the past week. He looked just as she remembered him, but only she could see that behind his cool stoic, careless façade that he was broken inside. But he hid it well- so well even Moran couldn't see it.

_Look at me, please look at me…_ She begged in her mind.

She knew he could hear her pleads in her head, but his eyes never once landed on her.

Sherlock knew the state she was in- he saw the raggedy ripped up dress with dried blood, the small slices on her arms, the redness around her throat from being roped, the cuts and rashes around her wrists and ankles from the chains that held her to the table, the paleness of her skin that was once olive, the darkness under her eyes, the locket still around her neck, and her ribcage which was protruding out from the sides of her sunken in stomach.

Sherlock knew she was staring at him, but he wouldn't dare return it.

"I must say," Sebastian continued, "I _am_ impressed. Please, sit." He and Sherlock took seats at the two loveseats that were set up with a tea set between them. "I'll pour?"

"Please." Sherlock replied unbuttoning his cuffs, crossing one leg over the other as if they were simply having afternoon tea-time.

"You got here quick. Solve my puzzles?"

"Didn't need to."

"Ah, do tell Mister Holmes." Moran replied excitedly, taking a sip.

"I don't think I will." Sherlock said casually sipping on his own cup. "But if you don't mind, I think I'll be taking my only lead to those documents and be well on my way. She's no good to your cause here."

"Oh Sherlock," Moran set his cup down, "you do know I only took her to lure you. Brought you here to kill you, right?"

"Yes, quite aware. Also aware of the fact that you intend to have Madeline use my brother then as her best way of finding the information." A little glint in his eye and smirk on his cheeks, Sherlock tilted his head jokingly, "You don't really think that's the best idea, do you? Using the second-best Holmes?"

"Well the first Holmes hasn't done much, has he? Look, you found that safe- hasn't been opened yet. You're lucky it hasn't been yet- or else," Moran whistled, "that silly little girl would have been killed ages ago."

"You're certain it's in the safe, what you're looking for?"

"Yes, I am." Moran smiled and sat back, "And so are you."

"Am I?" Sherlock set down his tea and steepled his fingers beneath his chin, "Well then, shall we get on with it?"

"Don't you want to say your goodbyes first?" Moran stood and strode over to Madeline standing and looking down at her head. "After all, I am going to kill you." She looked up at his face that was upside down staring down at her. Sebastian placed both of his hands on her jaw, and ran his fingers up through her hair. "My my, I must say she is pretty." Sherlock's jaw clenched, but everything else about his demeanor showed no change in his expression as he continued to sip on his tea. "Did you know she hasn't said a word?"

Moran looked at Sherlock who raised his eyebrows. "That must've been a challenge for her, as it takes her ages to shut up."

Moran chuckled, "Oh yes, you're quite funny." He looked back down at her, "But really though, she is very brave, I'll give her that much. I'd say it was you who influenced that bravery- but the more obvious influence regarding bravery was that short little man you used to drag around with you everywhere...What was his name?" He taunted.

Sherlock watched as Madeline's hands grew into fists. Suddenly, her chest began to rise and fall heavily, tears rolling out of the corners of her eyes as a lump grew in her throat. Moran smiled down at her.

"Aaah, see?" He looked as Sherlock excitedly, "There it is! The only time I ever got a reaction out of her was at the mention of poor John Watson. Yes, that's where she got her bravery from- the brave loyal soldier. Tell me Sherlock… how did it feel feeling his life slip away from you, right beneath your hands?"

Clutching his teacup tighter, Sherlock began to lose his patience as he ground his teeth. Moran looked at him wickedly.

"How did it feel to lose someone you loved so much?" He asked Sherlock. "You don't have to answer- you know, because I already know what that's like. You took Jim from me, so you see… I had to take John from you. Except I really don't think it's a fair trade you see- that Watson fellow was a compassionate old buffoon- even when I knew him back in school. Hardly a fair trade for Jim… which is why I want to ruin you even more."

"And how so?" Sherlock inquired, his voice so deep it made the table beneath Madeline hum, "May I ask?"

"Oh this is the best part- truly the best part, really." Moran paused with a smile. "Feel free to raise the top off of that cookie dish… I assure you there are not cookies under there."

Indeed, there weren't. Though Sherlock couldn't say he was surprised at what he saw. Moran may not have been more clever than Jim Moriarty- but he was perhaps more cruel.

"Go on then, Sherly boy." Moran continued to run his hands through her hair, "Promise I'll keep hands off her if you do it."

Clenching his jaw tightly, Sherlock dropped the cover with a loud clang, tea spilling onto the floor.

"_No_." His eyes burned as he looked back at Sebastian.

"Come on…" Sebastian drawled out with a laugh, "Alright, maybe some more convincing then? How about… I forget about the documents? And I let this girl he go and go on with the rest of her life?"

"Moriarty's last wish?" Sherlock replied incredulously, "You wouldn't dare displease him, even in his death. "

Sebastian shrugged, "I would… for you… if you do this."

"Then I'm no use to you or to the documents then." Sherlock growled.

"Like I said- I'd let them go. I'd let her go. Pretty sure he would be okay with that just to watch this… One last hurrah in Jim's honour of you digging yourself back into your own grave. Sounds more poetic, that way."

"Thought you wanted to kill me-" Sherlock growled.

"Oh you and I both know after you do this- I won't have to." Moran smiled and shook his head, "No… once you do _this_, you'll end up killing yourself."

Sherlock's breath hitched; the room went silent.

Slowly, and with great fear Madeline turned her head to face Sherlock. Next to him on the silver platter laid contents that made Madeline squirm; her shackles clanking against the metal table.

This time- with much intensity- Sherlock's eyes were on her. His face stoic, but in then were questions burning for her answer. In any other case- with any other asking- even jumping off a building again, Sherlock would do it without hesitance. But this… this was real. Sherlock couldn't come back if he did what Moran wanted him to. So silently he told Madeline, _'if you want… I'll do it.'_

She shook her head and mouthed to him '_No_.' She pleaded. Madeline knew it was not worth it.

Sherlock would take her response even as he hesitated to say it.

"No."

Sebastian sighed and shrugged without a care in the world. "Alright." He said, "You can have her then."

Much to her surprise, Moran undid her cuffs- all of them. Her skin felt fresh and it burned against the cool air. She could feel the rashes and cuts where the metal dug into her skin around her ankles and wrists, she hissed as Sebastian helped her to sit up on the table, feet dangling off the edge. Her back cracked as she sat up straight, never had it felt so good to be in a different position after 3 days of lying on pins and needles. They now faced Sherlock.

Madeline, in that moment, dared to hope. But when she saw the worry had not left Sherlock's expression she knew this was far too simple.

"The deal on the documents is out the window…" Moran said casually, "So long as she's alive, so long as I am as well, know that I'm going to continue after her until I get them, Holmes."

"Oh, _please_." Sherlock spoke his eyes narrowing. "We all know what's going to happen next and we both know that your little '_deal_' was never a '_deal_' at all."

"Alright, _yeah_," Sebastian smiled, "you got me."

Suddenly, Moran's left arm clutched her from behind, wrapping itself across her collarbones and gripped onto her right shoulder while the other, she presumed, now cocked a gun point blank to her head as she felt the metal dig into her skin.

"I didn't say whether you'd get her dead or alive, and I assure you Sherlock- if you don't do as I say, it won't be the latter." Sebastian smiled, "Go on then… I want to watch you _dance_."

The question and conflict in Sherlock's eyes had left him; there was no question for him to ask her anymore. To Sherlock Holmes this wasn't even a decision.

Madeline's heart jumped. "Sherlock, _don't_." She said. Her voice was hoarse and it hurt to speak after having been mute for so long.

But Sherlock didn't listen to her. Didn't look at her.

Instead, he rolled up his left sleeve until it was up above his elbow.

"Sherlock…" Madeline said between her teeth on the verge of tears, "Don't do this. Don't be an idiot."

He continued to ignore her and instead looked away with a determined stoic stare. And not even he- the great Sherlock Holmes, could disguise the underlying fear in his eyes.

On the table he picked up the items-

First the tube.

"He's doing this for you, sweetie…" Sebastian said into her hair, watching Sherlock with glee. "You should be happy- now this is what I call _romance_."

Sherlock expertly wrapped it around his elbow tightly. It had been a good 10 years since he'd done it- but his fingers had memorized the routine.

"Just do it!" Madeline growled to Sebastian, "You get me. Okay? Then he'll have no one left- isn't that better revenge?"

"Meh…" He contemplated, "It's about equal. Sorry love, but I already got to see him live without his best mate, this is something _new_ to watch, and _ooohhh_ I already _love it_."

Picking up the syringe, Sherlock knocked on it twice, his hard eyes rising to look up at Moran, "Is it clean?"

"_Of course_, I'm not an animal." Sebastian replied nearly offended.

It took every ounce in Madeline not to roll her eyes; she could feel the tears drip as she watched Sherlock hesitate with the needle pointed at his forearm.

The gun began to dig into her head as Sherlock hesitated, the syringe shaking in his hand.

"Sherlock, please…" Madeline pleaded, "Don't."

This time- he looked up at her and Madeline couldn't help but think- this would be the last time she'd ever have Sherlock Holmes look at her as himself.

"Please stop talking, Madeline," Sherlock demanded cruelly from beneath his lashes, his eyes dark and determined. "I'm starting not to believe Moran when he said you hadn't spoken for days."

It took a millisecond for Sherlock to sink the needle into his skin.

"_No, no, no_…" Madeline pleaded.

"_Aaaahhh…."_ A relieved sigh left Sherlock's chest.

His body sunk into the chair. His mouth open and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as his lids closed. His legs hung open in relaxation as the heroin was slowly injected into his skin by the pressure of his thumb. Everything that was seemingly silent about Sherlock was slowly leaving him, bit by bit- giving way to the addict beneath the man.

"Do you see that?" Sebastian smiled and said softly in Madeline's ear; he was now lulling them softly from side to side as she cried silently- watching the man she loved fall apart in front of her. "He's killing himself for you. …Once a junkie, always a junkie. And the most ironic part about it is that he did it for sentiment. A weakness that even Sherlock Holmes can't escape."

With a flick of his wrist Sherlock threw the empty syringe onto the floor, where it clanked loudly against the cement.

His head thrown back against the chair, his neck exposed to the cool air as his body temperature rose.

Madeline knew- her Sherlock was leaving her.

Sebastian laughed out of glee. "Boy this was better than that stupid ballet I took us to!" he exclaimed, "Do you remember that, Madeline? Our first date?" She didn't reply. Sebastian let go of her but kept his gun to her head. "Well, anyways, this is much better. The only downfall is that poor Johnny-boy-sidekick wasn't here to see his best man crumble beneath him."

Suddenly, in great surprise to the other two- a deep rumbling chuckle echoed throughout the basement. Madeline and Sebastian watched as Sherlock gripped his forearm and leaned forward; his body loose as if it were someone else controlling him. His eyes were wide and glossy, the expression in his face playful as the little twinkle in his eyes and smirk on his mouth taunted them both.

For Sebastian- it was pleasing; to Madeline- it was frightening. This wasn't the man she knew and now she knew that she'd never get to see Sherlock again. He was done…. he was gone.

"Something funny?" Moran inquired.

"Oh, yes!" Sherlock exclaimed happily, "You know you're lucky you're good with a gun, Sebby-" His voice slurred, "because there's not much else you're good at!" He laughed loudly, in a manner Madeline, in the 3 years on and off that she'd known him, had never heard come out of his body.

"Is that so?"

"Oh yes 'it is so'," Sherlock taunted playfully, "you see- Jim was always the smart one. And he knew his sidekick was just that- a _sidekick_. …I'm afraid I never had a sidekick you see, because while you and John went to the same schools and had the same education- you could never hope to be as smart or as clever as he." Sherlock smiled, "He's not like you- he's better than _just_ being good with a gun."

"Clearly he's not that clever- now that he's six feet under." Sebastian was losing his patience.

"Although, that is not to discredit him." Sherlock continued to himself as if Sebastian hadn't spoken a word, "He is the best shot I've ever seen." He turned to Sebastian with a smile, "Even a better shot than you, if I'm not mistaken? He's above rank and had better target scores than you-"

"Not anymore." Sebastian growled.

"aww…" Sherlock smiled arrogantly, "still jealous of your old school-mate?

"You know, I think I may just have to kill you the short hand way," Moran concluded.

Madeline felt the gun leave her temple and in the split second that it had immediately been pointed away from her- a loud gun-shot echoed throughout the room.

Madeline closed her eyes and screamed loudly, "_SHERLOCK!_" Her ears ringing as she pressed her fingers against them.

Sherlock's body went straight to the ground as it slid off the couch.

A loud CLANK and THUD could be heard behind her as she jumped off the table and fell to the floor, her knees too weak to hold her up. Madeline quickly pulled her chest up off the floor and was surprised to see the gun right beneath her and Moran laying right next to her, his face wincing in pain as blood was leaving his left shoulder from behind.

"Madeline!" She heard a familiar voice shout, but she didn't listen as her shaky hands pulled up the gun and pointed it square at Moran's face as he looked at her with wide, fearful eyes.

A sense of accomplishment and satisfaction filled her as she watched the fear fill him. She'd never felt such anger in her life- it boiled through her blood like a virus that consumed her.

"Madeline!" Sherlock shouted as he went on the floor to her, "_NO_!"

But Madeline wasn't listening. She could feel the tears burn down her cheeks as she dug the gun into the man's temple so hard it nearly cut into his skin. She growled as she began to cry- all the events of the past 7 days hitting her at once- she could feel all of the deep wounds- physical and mental exposed. The death of John. The breaking of Sherlock...She would make him pay.

Her arm began to shake, so she pulled her other hand over the gun to steady it.

"Maddie, don't." Sherlock suddenly breathed into her ear having finally reached her.

She didn't even bother to look at him as he was sitting behind her, his hands reached up and laid on her shoulders. She couldn't look at him because she knew if she did- it wasn't him she would be looking at. It would be who Moran had brought back.

"Don't talk to me." Madeline said, her voice shaking but her hands now stilled.

"Maddie, don't, please…" Sherlock pleaded, his voice still slurred. His hands left her shoulders and slid down softly to her biceps. "Don't do this."

Even his hands felt different.

"You're gone. He's taken everyone from me."

"No, I'm not, Maddie!" Sherlock exclaimed, "Not everyone's gone!

"**Don't call me Maddie**!" Madeline demanded. Only the real him could call her that. "You're _DEAD_, Sherlock." She spat leaving no room for argument. She knew he wouldn't understand her- not in his state.

"No, no no… I'm here." Sherlock tried to convince her. "Maddie- Madeline, love, I'm here…"

Keeping the gun firmly placed on Moran's head, Madeline slowly turned her own to look back at Sherlock.

Her heart broke.

The drugs had indeed taken him over. And as he pleaded at her, attempting to make her believe, repeating himself over and over, "_It's me, it's me… I'm here…" _as she looked into his eyes- she couldn't see him. He wasn't there. Sherlock was, indeed, gone.

"No, you're not." She whispered.

Wasting no time, she turned back to the frightened Moran whose eyes were now shut, his body shaking from blood-loss. Her thumb reached up and pressed back the hilt at the top of the gun, readying the bullet.

"I'll come back…" Sherlock pleaded, his words slurring, "Don't do this, don't, no… John, tell her…."

Madeline shook her head, she could feel her eyes sting- and now he was delusional. "John's dead, Sherlock."

"No…" Sherlock slurred, "He's here. He's here- Look!" he pointed.

The quick thrust of his arm turned Madeline's attention to directly in front of them where she thought she saw John Watson- gun in his left hand as he kneeled in front of them.

"Oh my god…" Madeline breathed, "_I see him too_."

She was hallucinating. Her heart began to beat wildly as she wondered what sort of drugs were coursing through her veins as well- perhaps she and Sherlock would do well together now as they were both weaned on drugs it seemed. Ignoring the delusion, Madeline pulled her focus back to Moran who was looking up with wide eyes at the ceiling.

"Madeline…" Just as her finger wrapped around the trigger, a small tan hand came over the top of hers, her eyes lifted in shock as John Watson smiled at her comfortingly with worry etched in his eyes. "I'm here."

She could feel his hand on hers.

…You couldn't _feel_ hallucinations or delusions.

…Could you?

"…And you don't want to do this, Madeline." He added.

No he looked… _real. _"No." Madeline shook her head. "No, it's not- no…" She blinked many times, she wouldn't be fooled.

"Madeline, _Please."_ John pleaded, feeling her fingers tighten around the trigger beneath his hand. Any extra little push and Madeline Smith would end a life. "I know you're full of rage, and confusion, but I made a promise… and I know you'll regret this if you do it. No matter how evil he is… taking a life when you've never been around death before will _haunt_ you." John's blue eyes looked deeply into hers. "…_trust me_."

"Are you…" Madeline swallowed, her voice shaking. "_Are you real_? …Have I gone batshit crazy or are you as real as I'm seeing you right now?"

John nodded, "I'm real, Madeline. Now put it down. You have no idea what doing this will do to you."

Staring at him with wide eyes, her whole body shaking, her hands began to loosen around the gun as John's fingers caressed her own. Her heard beating a million miles per hour.

She felt Sherlock's arms around her, slowly push her arms downwards as John smiled at her as he loosened the gun away and out of her hands. "There we go." John said relieved, "You're not a killer, Madeline." When he placed the gun off to the side, he put his right hand onto her cheek rubbing her bruise there with his thumb.

"But… you… you were-"

"Dead? I know." John looked down at Moran, the gun that had shot the assassin's now bleeding shoulder still clutched in his left hand; John placed it against Moran's forehead. "Some idiots fall for the same trick twice." Sebastian looked up at John disdainfully as he taunted with a smile, "Moriarty would have never done that."

The EMT's that Madeline had just noticed in the room came to Moran, cuffed him and moved him away from the trio to get medical care. "Sebastian Moran," Lestrade said loudly, his eyes fell on Madeline for only a moment and winced in compassion before returning his attentions to Moran, "you are under arrest…" he continued as he followed him being dragged out of the secluded building.

Madeline looked around the room with wide eyes. When had all these people arrived? Police officers were cuffing Moran's men at every corner, detectives were taking pictures of the room and confiscating evidence. She saw the top of the ventilation where the cover had been taken off- clearly from where John had taken his incredible shot that shot Moran before he could shoot either herself or Sherlock.

"What… what is happening." Madeline whispered. All of the information, the confusion, the sensations overwhelming- it was unreal, like being in the midst of an insane dream.

But before John could answer her, a thump drew their attention to Sherlock who was now laying on the floor next to them.

"Ughh…." Sherlock moaned, _"I can feel it."_ He breathed. He closed his eyes, running his hands through his hair. _"Lucy… Lucy, where is Lucy…" _

"Who's Lucy?" Madeline asked John.

"I have no idea. Sherlock?" John said worriedly, placing his hand atop Sherlock's forehead, dropping his gun and placing that hand on his pulse. "Christ, it was a heavy dose." Quickly John lifted and placed the back of Sherlock's head onto his knees.

Madeline was kneeling next to his chest, she grabbed Sherlock's soft hand, "Can he come back? Was he bad before? John?"

John shook his head, "He wasn't good, Madeline. I don't know much but it wasn't good. He's been off of it too long and now… _fuck_!" John shouted, utterly upset. The plan had gone to shit- now that Madeline was safe, Sherlock was in harms way- his own. And John blamed himself entirely. "I should have shot sooner but Sherlock made me swear- and Moran had his bloody gun pointed directly at your head-!"

"John-" Sherlock drawled out and looked up at his friend, "shut up! My fault… I'm the… I'm the weakness. Help Madeline. Don't be an idiot." Sherlock looked down at Madeline who's eyes were glossed over with worry as she looked at him. "Come home now? …please?" He asked her. "Please Maddie, can I call you Maddie?"

Madeline gasped sadly and nodded as tears dripped down her cheeks. "Yes, I suppose. Even though it's not you, Sherlock. _This isn't you_."

"Aww Maddie," Sherlock cooed, "This can be me. Come home though. Don't leave okay? Will you come home please with me and Johnny?" Suddenly, Sherlock's face broke out with a smile so wide like a child right in the midst of his serious declaration, adding quite playfully, "if you come home and then I'll make you your stupid sandwich, pretty-Maddie."

A smile and a sob came over Madeline at once. Her hand ripped out of his own as she covered her face, leaning forward and crying into her palms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Unnoticed by her, the ripped dress lifted as she leaned forwards, exposing her hip- which held the worst of the scars that would be left on her battered body.

"_My name…_?" Sherlock's smile dropped as quickly as it had come, horror filled his face. He lifted his fingers and pushed the dress aside to expose the rest of her hip.

"_Oh my god_…" John groaned covering his eyes after he saw, his heart clenching in sickness as he saw what had been carved deeply there:

"We need the medics, NOW!" John shouted. "He's close to O.D –ed and she needs anti-biotics-!"

"_My name_…" Sherlock repeated over and over in horror as the EMT finally reached a sobbing Madeline and himself, "_My name… my name… my name… _"

* * *

**John's alive. Sherlock's on drugs again. Madeline's scarred. And _so_ much more to come. **

**Ok. I'm sorry. But I'm not sorry. I hope we're still alive? EVERYTHING will be explained in the next couple of chapters! So if you're confused- don't worry! :D**

**I could tell a lot of you have been passive-aggressively angry at me for what you thought I did to John and that's _totally ok_ I did it on purpose obviously as my own sort of Reichenbach. I would never kill off Watson, only my favourite character! Can we all be friends again? Lol I had this planned from the beginning and knew that if I could really fool you all that I could write something _great_ while simultaneously hurting and pleasuring all of my readers. I learned from the school of Moffat clearly lol**

**Truly, I hope even 4 parts in that this fic is even more exciting and endearing for all of you as it was when we started. ****  
**

******Especially now that so much has happened, **Comments would be SO lovely!


	6. Breaking Down

**Thanks to The-Wordy-Lass, my beta! ALSO- POSTER IS HERE! It's GORGEOUS and it was made by mer-wholocked on Tumblr and she has a lovely Merlon/Doctor Who/ Sherlock themed tumblr and follow her because she is fabulous. **

**Blesssss all of you commenters: HC, SanityIsOverratedXD, raindribbles, sailormajinmoon, Amehhh, Deathcab4kimmie, NamiMakimono, Midnight Valentina, GrilledCheezus, Themadwitch, Empress of Verace, InkFairy, and Gwilwillith. **

**sdkjhgdskjhg I love all of you like crazy. I just... ily.**

**Onwards. **

* * *

**A Friend. **

John's arms were wrapped around his shoulders tightly.

He'd refused to stay on the bed.

So there they were, laying down on the ground, legs stretched out, John's back against the hospital wall with Sherlock's head laying against his chest as he mumbled nonsense.

"But you see that's the things about bees!" Sherlock exclaimed further, "There is a deep sense of community there and it's truly a wonder how they make all that honey."

"Yes, truly." John said sarcastically, "Sherlock, please get up on the bed?"

It was 8 hours since the injection- and it showed no signs of wearing off.

The man went silent for a moment, "No. Why? Are you sick of my company already?"

"No, it's just my back is hurting a bit. You have the density of the dying sun or something." John arched his back, wincing in pain.

"Leave then! Why don't you just leave!" Sherlock shouted suddenly, his temperament changing as quickly as it could. "You left! You did what you did and do you have any idea what that felt like?!"

John looked up at him with hard eyes, "I do, actually. Remember? I watched _you_ fall…"

"Okay…" He breathed, "I'm going to go now." Sherlock mumbled standing up slowly, ripping the IV out of his arm.

"What?" John stood watching Sherlock exit the room, "Where are you going?"

But John didn't need to watch Sherlock walk into the room down the hall to know exactly where he was going.

* * *

**A Breakdown. **

_Maddie…_

_Maddieee…_

_I have bacon…._

Madeline's eyes opened at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Looking above her, she saw Sherlock's face and for a second- she was happy.

It took a moment for the reality of what had happened and where she was to hit her- then as quickly as it had come, the happiness left.

"Hi." She said softly.

Both of Sherlock's hands came up and cupped her face, his eyes were glossy and dilated. "You've been asleep. They patched you up though…"

"I know. …How are you feeling?"

Sherlock smiled widely and swayed, "I'm fine."

"How has it not worn off yet?" She whispered to herself.

"What? Don't you like me?" Sherlock snapped suddenly. His demeanor quickly changing to anger.

"Not like this- no. You're… you're… wrong." Madeline shook her head struggling for words, gasping from pain as she sat up against the pillows, "This isn't who I like, Sherlock."

"Well maybe this is me now-" Sherlock countered, "I don't want to go back to it all. I felt everything and it did nothing good for me."

"And you do nothing good for anyone like this."

"Why!" Sherlock spat, "And who needs help?!"

"ME! JOHN! Molly! Everyone! You stupid son of a bitch!" Madeline shouted suddenly. It seemed her temper hadn't been lost over the past week. "Everyone who's helped you is in pain now. In pain for their own issues and in pain worrying over your stupid ass and... Here you are- not _even_ fighting for yourself." She gasped for air, pulling the oxygen tubes out of her nostrils, "You come in here and you don't even…" She breathed for a moment to calm herself. "…The real you never left my side 3 years ago and now you're… you're awful. The you back then put a tracker in this-" She pointed to the locket still sitting around her neck, " I realized that in the last minute because I remembered how clever and protective you were… and I never realized just how much before this."

"I wasn't caring- I was selfish," Sherlock spat, "you have no idea-"

"If you were selfish then, then what the hell are you now?"

"I'm someone who still doesn't care." He shook his head with a wild smile. Madeline watched him open the window, he took one last glance at her, "Be well, yeah?" He said before jumping out.

Madeline sat in the silence with only the beep of her heart monitor to keep her company. She couldn't blame him- because this wasn't him. And he had only done it without choice to save her. Madeline pressed the emergency nurse's button next to her bed. A moment later, Greg Lestrade, John Watson, and a nurse were all desperately trying to fit in the door between them.

"He's left." Madeline said simply. The nurse sighed, nearly rolling her eyes and left the room. Sherlock Holmes had been causing her trouble since the moment they'd admitted him. "Out the window."

"Jesus Christ." John shook his head, "He's lost it."

"Come on, I know all the old places he used to go." Lestrade said, fixing up his jacket, "Madeline, will you be alright alone for a bit?"

"She'll be just fine." A cool voice said. Mycroft appeared in the doorway, tipping his umbrella to the two men, "Off you go. Please do try and find my little brother before he takes another hit and is lost to us forever."

Greg and John nodded, and left the room. Madeline watched as Mycroft pulled up a chair next to her bed. He took a moment and regarded her.

"…And how are you, Miss Smith?"

"Apart from missing our uselessly passive aggressive conversations- quite well." She smiled sarcastically, eliciting a chuckle from the Mycroft.

"Well then, good to see you haven't lost all of your spirit."

"It would take a lot more than a man with a couple of knives to get to me." Madeline spoke, a slight shakiness in her voice. The cuts on her body were hard for her to look at, the memories were coming back one at a time, slowly haunting her. According to the doctor they would all physically heal and none of them would scar- all but one.

"I heard about Sherlock's name in your side…" Mycroft said grimly, "I do hope that won't hold too many bad memories."

"No… not really. It's just…" Madeline hesitated, feeling absolutely strange that she was opening up to Mycroft Holmes. "Now I'll always have to remember the worst week of my life whenever I look down at it. I thought… John was dead. I thought I would have been there for so long- never knowing when Sherlock would come and find me. I mean… _what the hell happened_?"

"It was John's idea, actually…" Mycroft said. "We had no intention of getting you kidnapped, as you know. But as John realized it was happening- he thought quickly. Told Sherlock you were taken. But while on his way there, he called me with a plan… he knew Moran was trying to rip Sherlock's world apart. There was a hit out on John, as well as your brother-"

Madeline's eyes widened in alarm.

"Don't worry, we didn't tell you on purpose. Michael and Alex are quite fine back in Colorado. And just as an extra precaution, I'm having them watched." Madeline let out a sigh of relief, never once so thankful as she was then about Mycroft's penchant for watching others. "Though I will admit it took quite a bit to get your brother on that plane out of here."

Madeline cracked her first smile in what felt like ages, "I bet. So… what happened then?"

"John slipped on a bulletproof vest, the only difference being the bloodbag against it. He argued with Sherlock outside Bart's until the shooter had a free range to take the shot- the shooter was quite certain he'd really shot John Watson. Sherlock being out of the loop gave an even better performance than what could've been done had he known… if possible. At the hospital, Sherlock was informed of the plan- after which he declared he'd _see me to my grave_ for keeping it from him for the better part of an hour; John was declared '_dead_' and then he went into hiding with one of Molly Hooper's close friends- a nurse by the name of Mary. He's been kept there waiting until you were found for the world to move in. No one looks out for a dead man, you see."

"So… Sherlock thought John was actually dead?"

"Oh yes… nearly ended him on the drive to the hospital." Mycroft reminisced, "I've never seen him so undone."

"Today included?" She asked incredulously, not even knowing what that would look like.

"I mean undone _as himself_." Mycroft continued, he shook his head. "We weren't expecting the drugging."

"And what were you expecting, waltzing him into Moran's arms like that?"

"Get Moran to free your shackles, then John takes his shot." He recited and shrugged, "That's all we could go by. Sherlock wasn't willing to wait a moment longer to get to you to figure a more detailed plan."

"Well…" Madeline said softly, "How quickly those sorts of things can change. John should have taken the shot before he injected-"

"Sherlock made John promise not to take the shot until you were out of harm's way." Mycroft added, "He made him swear to it. John agreed to it and is a man of his word. And yes, I'm afraid- Miss Smith, that things can change quite quickly when regarding Sherlock Holmes."

Fear filled her eyes, Mycroft watched her face curiously. The emotion on it so open- it was something he wasn't accustomed to seeing. A sight he usually met with distain but for some reason he found her inability to control or hide her emotions endearing.

"He's not going to get off it, is he?"

"My brother's past with drugs is a _very _dark one… as you can tell he's not the same man. It's as if the addict beneath him is an entirely different person- I'm afraid Sherlock's face doesn't even seem recognizable when under the influence. Before during his first binge nearly a decade ago, someone was around, someone that needed his help almost more than he did… and seeing that helped him out of it."

_Lucy_, Madeline thought. In any other situation, much like at the mention of The Woman, when a female was presented in shocking tandem with Sherlock's name Madeline would find a pang of jealousy but not regarding this girl, this Lucy.

Madeline knew she'd had something to do with bringing him back the first time, and even though she never knew her and probably would never know her- Madeline silently saluted her with the greatest respect and strength.

"What happened to them? The person, I mean?"

"Sherlock helped her… and in turn, many things happened for Sherlock and finally he helped himself. Difference between now and then is that Sherlock had no one he felt for. Now, he has more people than he ever thought he could be in contact with at one time that _don't_ want to strangle him. My point being, you- Miss Smith, as well as John Watson are Sherlock's best hope for mending himself but I fear you both may be the very same reason why he may _want _to dig himself back in again and never leave."

"…Why?"

Mycroft smiled grimly, "I'm sure it'll all come to light for you _very_ soon." Mycroft Holmes got up from his chair and paused. "Moran's in custody now… I'd say you're safe, but not really. Let's not forget that you still have access to the most powerful documents on the planet that every criminal wants- and I still want them myself, if you don't mind to keep searching."

Just as Mycroft reached the door, Madeline spoke, "Wait!" he paused and looked back at her, "…Take me home, please."

The elder Holmes raised an eyebrow inquisitively, "And just _which_ home would that be, Miss Smith?"

* * *

**Another Friend. **

Lestrade and John sat in the police car next to one another- on their way to yet another location in an attempt to find Sherlock.

"It's not your fault, you know." Lestrade said after minutes of silence.

"Well… can't help but feel like it is."

"Sherlock made you swear, John- and anyways- Madeline would be dead now if you hadn't waited to take the shot!"

"Yeah, but it's not just that…" John looked out the window, biting his lip. He looked back at Greg, "I'm the one that set Madeline up with Doctor Jack. Then she in turn set him up with Molly. …I was his way in. I'm the _foolish compassionate man _as he called me-"

"No, don't think like that. Don't you see? He's trying to mess with you! Trying to get you to doubt yourself. Sebastian Moran would have found a way into the interworking's of Bart's-one way or another. You just happened to be the way. Clearly, he took some sick pleasure working right under Sherlock's nose."

John's silence was a _thank you_ for his comforting comment.

"So, where is this place we're going to exactly?" John inquired.

"An underground bareknuckle fight club that also doubles as a drug and prostitution ring. Sherlock was a regular there- it's called _The Underground_."

"Wait, what?" John's face scrunched in confusion, "Bare-knuckle fighting and prostitution? …Sherlock?"

"Yeah, but as far as I know the only thing he officially participated in was the fighting to get some funds. Don't know much about the prostitution bit- I don't think he participated in that though, since he had the place cleared out as part of our agreement. These past couple of years though, its sprouted back up."

"Agreement? …Wait, does this have something to do with Lucy? Who is Lucy, exactly?"

Greg shrugged, "An old friend of Sherlock's, I think."

"Friend?"

"Well, more acquaintance, really. He handed her over to Mycroft, not to me- so I don't really know much about that regarding Sherlock Holmes… as usual."

John watched as their car pulled up to an abandoned alley with a stairwell leading down underground that he'd never noticed before. But it was also then that John realized this was one of the few streets in London that Sherlock had always managed to purposely avoid on their pursuits.

* * *

**A Determination. **

"Oh… there we are dear… one more step…" Mrs. Hudson said softly as she helped Madeline up the stairs of 221B. "Don't worry dear, I have hip problems too, you know."

_You have no idea_. Madeline thought grimly. She'd been able to walk on her own before leaving the hospital, giving it a few test runs in her room with Mycroft ordering her about, _'No, put equal weight on both legs.' _She'd wanted to strangle him with his own umbrella as he watched her struggle, but she hated to admit his advice was the right ones as she was walking around the room in no time. And right before she'd left an officer had wanted to come in and insisted on questioning her, but much to her pleasant surprise, it was Mycroft who stood up from his chair, his umbrella pointed and declared with utter coldness and authority:

_'Well I don't see that's any concern of yours, son. This investigation is out of your police department's hands. Can't you see Miss Smith is exhausted? So unless you're here to bring her a cold towel for her bruises, do feel free to leave now. Your incompetence is no longer needed.'_

It was perhaps the first moment that Madeline had ever felt any sort of pleasant connection with Mycroft Holmes.

"There we are, dear." Mrs. Hudson said softly, sitting Madeline down on Sherlock's bed. "Do you need help getting dressed or anything? Would you like some tea? Just this once though, I'm not your housekeeper."

Madeline's face broke out into a light smile, she'd dreamed of hearing those words. She'd dreamed of 221B. It was as if the past week had never happened- the only reminders that any disturbance had taken place existed on her body and in her mind. The flat itself had remained the same as if it had never been disturbed.

"No, Mrs. Hudson, thank you though, I think I'll just be going straight to bed."

With a curt nod and placing a kiss on Madeline's cheek, Mrs. Hudson left, closing the bedroom door behind her.

Madeline placed her hands on the sheets. His scent radiated off them. She closed her eyes and inhaled. A warmth filled her.

Madeline had been through quite a bit the past week- and she was not afraid to say she didn't want to be alone. Never would she consider herself the victim, but she at least wanted comfort from someone… and there she sat at 221B. Alone.

Her phone vibrated. Mycroft had given her it back along with her other belongings that had been left behind at the pub. Opening it she saw it was a text from John- along with 212 other messages. Her eyebrows came together in confusion, but her phone immediately opened to the message she'd just received:

_Mycroft just called, why did you leave the hospital alone!? On my way back to 221b. I'm coming to stay with you; Lestrade's going to keep looking. I'll be there soon. You won't be alone- I promise! Just hang tight. Take your pain medication! –JW_

Madeline smiled at her phone; _John Watson._ She thought admirably, her heart never so thankful that he was in fact, alive. Madeline knew when she was strong enough she was going to hug him for a long time and never let go. She closed her phone and plugged it into the wall, as it dinged for battery. She'd check the other hundreds of messages from she-didn't-know-who, later. Picking up her pills she popped one in and dry swallowed it. Pretty soon she'd be well into a heavy sleep where her harsh reality didn't haunt her.

Looking up she saw her ballet pointes hanging off the bedpost, waiting for her. When she'd seen them in the past, excitement would fill her- a need to put them on would embrace her but as she sat there and started at them- she felt sick. Madeline felt… sadness. No want to put them on. No want to paint. …No want to eat.

She felt darkness envelope her.

This was a slow spiral and she was at the beginning- and she knew exactly where she was heading as she'd headed there before.

After her parents died and Michael had fallen into alcoholism and she had to turn down her ballet dreams- Madeline went into a deep depression. And now she could feel herself at the beginning of it again with nothing in the way to stop it.

"_Madeline_…"

She gasped as she turned around, seeing Sherlock crawl along the floor down from the window.

"Jesus!" She jumped to her feet and went to him, wrapping her arms around his chest she helped pull him onto the bed. "How did you get in here?"

"Window-" Sherlock mumbled into the bedsheet, lifting his had he swung it back and forth, "Trick."

Madeline found his hidden latch on the window and shut it, with no time to think of how clever it all was- a groan sounded from the bed. At first Madeline rolled her eyes in exhaustion, knowing this was the last thing in the world she needed- but as a second passed and another moan came- she realized they weren't simple grunts- Sherlock was…

"Oh my god…" Madeline gasped as she reached the bed, jumping on it as she helped him sit up. His eyes were red, swollen- _he was detoxing_. "You… you didn't go get more, did you?"

Sherlock shook his head with his eyes shut, masking the pain as best he could. "Clearly not. Anyways, Mycroft froze my money."

Sitting up with her legs in front of her, leaning against the pillows at the top of the bed, Madeline watched as he pulled his body up between her legs, inch by inch, his purple shirt stretching until he placed his cheek against her chest, placing all of his weight against her as he wrapped his arms around her middle, nuzzling his nose against her collar bone while breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry…" he breathed, "I'm so sorry…"

Madeline felt her heart clench as she squeezed him tightly, "I don't blame you… he made you do it, and you did it for me…"

Lifting his head he looked up at her desperately, his eyes wide and dilated- she'd never seen them fully dark brown before, "Yes, but now you're alone!"

Madeline looked down at him sadly, she couldn't believe a word he said- not even a little bit of sentiment. She had to remember… this wasn't him. He didn't even look like the Sherlock she knew. He looked like a lost little bright-eyed boy who knew he was in trouble.

His chin was perched between both of her breasts, against her prominent bone, Sherlock's fingers ran across her ribs counting each one, serving as a reminder of the pain she went through.

"I'm sorry I'm not here for you, Maddie…" He said softly, watching the tears fall down her cheeks silently. Lifting her hands, she fanned her fingers across his cheekbones and into his hair.

"You can't win at everything, Sherlock." Madeline replied softly, "Moran knew what he was doing to you… I only wish you'd come back like you told me you would."

"I'll come back." He said excitedly, squeezing her tighter against him, her hips digging into his stomach. "Like I said, I promise, I'll come back and I'll be who I was-"

"Who you _are_." Madeline corrected. "…that's sweet of you to say, Sherlock but the drugs-"

"I did it once, I can go off again!" Hope filled Sherlock's eyes. Madeline could feel his fingers shaking as they gripped her, digging into her skin- attempting to mask the pain of the drugs beginning to leave his system.

"Sherlock…" Madeline whispered, knowing these words were more hopeful than real.

"Please, Maddie, please…" He begged, he buried his face into her chest once more, "Will you hate me?" He groaned against it, the deep vibrato of his words rippling through her body.

"Why would I hate you?" Her voice shook as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the pillows, running her fingers through the top of his head.

Sherlock placed his hand against her bandaged hip, "Because of this. …Because I changed your life for the worse that day I walked into your coffee shop in Colorado. Because…" He hesitated, his breath warm against her collarbone, "Because _I love you_."

Madeline's breath hitched in her chest. She could feel a sob begin to wrack against her chest. How she longed to hear those words come from his mouth and yet, she knew…

"I don't regret a day that I've known you, Sherlock Holmes." He turned and looked up at her with sad wide eyes, as if he'd never heard such kind words before. Madeline looked down at him, tears dripping. "I only regret these moments now because I know I can't believe you. Not a single word that you say. Because this is not you."

Sherlock looked as disappointed as she'd ever seen a man, "I know. I'm sorry. I don't even know who I am right now…" He unwrapped his arms from around her and sat up, placing his hands on her cheeks, wiping the tears with his thumbs, "But if I come back… and I tell you again… will you believe me?"

"Sherlock," She shook her head sadly, "You won't tell me again. Because it's not true and you don't love… not _me_, and not like that."

"I'll come back." Sherlock said determined, his eyes burning with certainty, "And I'll tell you. You just help me get through tonight, don't let me go tonight, and tomorrow I'll be better, then I can tell you."

"…I want to believe you-"

He grabbed her hand that fluttered across his chest and placed it harshly against his heart, "Then do." Sherlock said fiercely determined. Madeline looked at him, hope filling her eyes at his words. "I promise. I won't leave again." He smiled, it looked strange on his face. It was unlike his other smiles. "…I can overcome this, I know I can!"

Madeline smiled back, against all of her sense she believed him, "Okay."

"And then I'll take care of you," Sherlock ran his thumbs across her cheeks, "… you can tell me everything that happened to you… and I can help you heal your wounds- even though I know you can do it on your own, I want to help. I want to be there, for you..." He ran his thumb across her smiling lips as he smiled in return, "_My lovely Madeline_."

It only took a second after his happy declaration for his face to contort into something alarming.

"Oh, CHRIST." He gasped, keeling over and clutching his belly. Sherlock began to perspire, his breathing heavy. He gasped for air, letting her go and gritting his teeth, he growled loudly and ached in pain. The detox was hitting him.

"It's okay!" Madeline exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him, she laid back onto the bed and placed his shaking body atop hers. He once more buried his trembling face against her chest. "I promise, I'll keep you."

His breathing was sharp and quick. "…_Maddie." _

"It's okay, I'm here…" Madeline comforted, pleasantly surprised at how accustomed she was now to hearing her once hated nickname come out of his mouth. Running her fingers through his hair, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he moaned, "I'm here…" she repeated.

Finally she felt his full weight against her and she knew he'd passed out from the pain.

Madeline sighed, his body felt good against hers and she let her mind wander to his words, _I love you_. His confession had hurt more than she cared to admit- it taunted her. It was the admission of a drug addict, but it was coming out of the mouth of the man whom she loved. And she knew he would never feel- let alone even say such a thing to her. That wasn't Sherlock Holmes.

She could feel her body ache, he'd certainly lost weight as well. _Look at us both._ She thought bitterly. Both of them boney, scarred, and in pain- traumatized by their pasts. Both broken together in each other's arms laying together as close as they'd ever been- yet as far away as two people could ever be.

The moment was bittersweet. And as Madeline's pills began to take over, she felt herself lull into a deep and heavy sleep with the unfortunate image of Moran's face smiling down at her stuck in the back of her mind like a tattoo she could never rid herself of.

* * *

**A Loyalty. **

John Watson slowly opened the door to Sherlock's bedroom and was more than surprised to find him laying atop Madeline, his breathing quick and rigid- indicating a detox.

John smiled lightly. At least this was a start. And at least the man was doing this with the woman he loved.

_Maybe he'll even tell her_ …_one day._

John would text Lestrade the moment after he closed the door. And after said text he would text Mary and defer yet another dinner date- she understood completely.

* * *

**A Heartbreak.**

The next morning Madeline Smith woke up with a start. Another moment of the past week that had been hidden in her subconscious had come to light in her dreams.

Moran with a metal spiked flail, running it up and down her back breaking the skin. She could feel the healing holes on her back burn from the memory. But as she looked up at the ceiling, the comforting warm eggshell tones reminding her of where she was- and where she wasn't anymore.

Madeline remembered the previous night with a smile- he'd come back for her. He'd come back to heal, to be who he was once more. To help her get through this- to help himself as well.

Lifting her sore arms, she stretched them up with a sigh- halfway through, she stopped abruptly as she felt a cool breeze against her ankles.

In a flash Madeline sat up with a gasp- she was alone in the bed.

The window was open, the curtains blowing in the wind. Next to her a little piece of paper fluttered against the pillow.

With shaky hands, she picked it up, her heart shattering, as she already knew what it read. The cravings had been too strong for him, and Madeline truly realized in that moment as she cried silently that she was far too weak. She was tired of being strong, and for the first time in her life had felt the weakness consume her. And the one time she needed him, the strongest man she'd ever known- he was gone at the hands of his own imposed fragility that spoke volumes in his inability to control it in his last note:

_I'm sorry._

_SH_

* * *

**...so am I? Please don't kill me. O.O**

**Comments?**

**Wiz-Chic. **


	7. Texts From Sherlock

**(((Also- Okay I love all of you. Can I say this please? I've received so many new readers and all of your comments have got me reeling in euphoria. I want to answer each of you personally but there are so many that I can't, so the list will have to do but if you want to talk to me message me and I'll totally be able to answer you! And if you want me to answer to your review- let me know and I'll do it! :D )))**

**Thank you to: **Monique Seiei, youronlydoll, Guest (the one who asked the question I'll explain), Amehhh, GrilledCheezus, sailormajinmoon, MonzaBird, Gwilwillith, LLpottle, Deathcab4kimmie, Midnight Valentina, Empress of Verace, NamiMakimono, and jezzicadixon** f****or your comments on the latest chapter. Please know that I am reading each and every comment and every little detail in them and they all mean so much to me. Not one review is skipped or forgotten, you all make all this hard work worth while!**

**To answer the question 'guest' asked: Why didn't John just shoot Moran before Madleine was released? I had actually written a part in the last chapter to explain this but the chapter was getting far too long so I sorta cut it out :( But here it is explained for those of you who want to know/have asked!**

Sherlock didn't have the keys for her shackles (as they were chains) and he'd walked in unarmed having been frisked by one of Moran's men on the way in. Problem is- regardless of when John would shoot the gun Moran's men would be headed into the room within a second flat and if anything happened to Moran they were ordered to kill her (that's the '_you know what to do'_ line Moran says to them before ordering them to wait outside), so If John shot him _before _she'd been released from her shackles- she would be in _much_ more danger than if she weren't (almost certainly her death). As she would be (literally) a sitting target. Also- by waiting for that bit of time, it gave Sherlock the opportunity to not only find a way to get Madeline out of her shackles therefore decreasing hugely her immensely high danger level, but it also gave Lestrade's men more time to take over Moran's operation from the outside in. Because without Lestrade's men taking down every one of Moran's- that combined with her chained up- most certainly equaled her death. _So_, the option of John shooting Moran before Madeline was out of her shackles _as well_as having Lestrade's men captured Moran's guards at the same exact time was very slim, and too much of a risk especially considering they were going in blind with no idea with what Moran had planned.

**I know that's quite detailed which is why it was hard to fit in the last chapter, but I hope that cleared it all up! I'm LOVING how much you're all paying attention to details! You guys are incredible.**

**Woe, this author's note is way too long now. Apologies!**

**Here's a more mellow chapter filled with memories of our old Sherlock…**

* * *

**221B.**

Madeline hissed, her skin aching as she made her way out of the shower towards Sherlock's- or now she supposed her own, bedroom. It had been 8 hours since he'd gone missing yet again, surely having taken more than one dose by now. Madeline just hoped to everything that meant anything to her that he hadn't OD-ed.

John and Lestrade were away on a search for him- but even as he left willingly - John didn't want to leave Madeline alone. Her scars were still fresh, the literal physical wounds not even halfway closed and her emotional ones hadn't even begun. John cursed Sherlock yet simultaneously knew this wasn't his doing- he wanted to punch the man, beat him then tie him up for a year to ensure he never got a taste of his addictive weakness again- then force him to admit to Madeline his love for her and help her get through the traumatizing week with Moran.

But in order to do that- John had to find him. …Also, he wanted his best friend back.

Madeline had assured him that she would be fine. She had no plans to leave 221B for the day, as it was nearing evening now Madeline sat on the edge of the bed wishing she hadn't sent John away- but also knowing she had to. In her usual fashion and form- she still managed even under the utmost trauma and duress, to put others before herself. A trait that would once be considered a virtue was becoming a flaw.

Her stomach twisted and groaned, she hadn't ate much in a solid 3 days; Mrs. Hudson forced soup down her throat- only for Madeline to regurgitate it minutes later. John had concluded she'd eventually need to be fed through a tube in her stomach by the end of the week. Madeline had never felt the way she'd felt- she wasn't herself. Somewhere along the way of Moran's torture she'd lost little bits of who she was.

Food had no taste. Art held no appeal. Ballet made her sick. She was nothing of who she once was.

_"Don't you worry, Madeline- before you know it you'll be back to your old self. I'm not saying it's going to be easy and it'll take some time… but once you start working through these things you'll find yourself clearing out the fridge in one go- just like you used to." _John had told her hopefully, Madeline had just smiled- she felt no such hope inside her any more.

Her eyes fell to her phone sitting on the table, over 100 text messages left unread. There could only be one person that they were from.

Like a masochist, Madeline picked up the phone and opened her inbox, there they were. Sitting there- taunting her. 7 days worth of text messages from Sherlock- the _real _Sherlock. The messages he'd sent her while she was in Moran's grasp. Her thumb shook as it hesitated over revealing the first message- this would be like torture. Taunting herself- as if she didn't miss the real Sherlock Holmes enough as she slept in his bed, wore his robe and continuously thought about him and the fact that he'd given himself up for her- reading each one would be a harsh reminder of how much she really loved him- the real him.

Opening the first one- she sighed. It was before he realized she'd been taken.

_Irene doesn't seem to want to leave. She keeps talking. That's your job- isn't it? –SH _

Madeline found herself smiling… only he could insult her with the purpose of it putting a smile on her face- and knowing just what to say to do exactly that.

Her chest began to ache. Subconsciously her hand reached down and cupped her wrapped hip, where his name was healing itself into scars. Moran had thought his name would taunt her… but it only served as the reminder of the man he was. Sherlock knowingly walked straight into his death the moment that needle touched his skin- all in order to save her. Then he managed to keep her from killing Moran which (at the time) seemed like the right thing to do, but now it was 3 days later and she couldn't have been more thankful to Sherlock and John for pulling her away. They knew who she was; they knew the guilt would have consumed her.

Snapping out of her thoughts she looked down and pressed for the next message.

_Don't leave John's side by the way… you are rather good at not following requests. –SH _

_Scratch that. It's not a request- it's an order. Don't leave John's side. Irene's done something… perhaps once she shuts up we can get to it. -SH _

Madeline's eyes began to sting as she continued on reading the messages like a book that played out before her. Each message chronicling each moment of every day, as if she hadn't missed a thing that was happening to him- he took it upon himself to share to her.

_MADELINE- IF YOU STILL HAVE YOUR PHONE CALL ME AND SET IT DOWN- I CAN HAVE IT TRACED. – SH _

_DON'T TAKE OFF YOUR NECKLACE- MADELINE. IT HAS A TRACKER ON IT. –SH_

Madeline bit her lip, knowing that after this message he'd learned what had happened.

_…I'm sorry I failed. I'm coming for you. –SH_

_Thought John was dead for the good part of an hour. …Don't know how you both dealt for 6 months. –SH_

_Found your phone. I know you won't see this message but I'm begging that you haven't taken your necklace off. –SH _

_Figured it out on your own. I can say confidently your deduction skills have grown considerably. –SH_

_Got your message. Found your hair. Clever girl. …I'm coming for you. –SH _

_Homeless network's out looking for you. They're rather ecstatic as I am funding them a small fortune- it'll get you back quicker. Also Mycroft's people are on it. Lestrade's sort of on it- he wants to help but I'm afraid the police are rather dim-witted and they're not involved with this case. …maybe I'll humour him. –SH _

_I'm sorry I let you down. I'm coming for you. –SH_

_I found another spider. Didn't shoot it this time. Ran away too fast. Mrs. Hudson's been yelling about bullets in her floor. I'll have it shot before you get here. –SH _

_John's staying at Mary Mortsan's. One of Molly Hooper's friends. I'm afraid they're more than just a little compatible. –SH _

_He thinks I don't know. –SH_

_Got the spider. I'm not cleaning it up. -SH_

_You got rave reviews for your opening night performance. Amazing how flexible you were considering the whole medium pizza you ate beforehand. –SH_

_John's coming for you too. –SH _

_Apparently your stand in / understudy for the remaining ballet performances has been awful- stumbling about the stage. Did it not help I slipped a tiny rock into her left slipper? –SH _

_Day 3. Are you okay? –SH_

_Met Mary for the first time yesterday. Wanted to hate her but found that I couldn't. She's as clever and witty as you. -SH_

_Your bags of luggage on my floor are annoying. Its been almost a year- you're using your bags like a dresser, you have your own closet- use it. You might be even lazier than me. –SH _

_Unpacking you things. May take liberties. –SH_

_Don't wear grey anymore, it washes out your olivey skintone. –SH_

_Speaking of which- how did you NOT notice you were adopted? Didn't it seem strange having brown eyes and olive skin in a family that has neither? Good thing I came along. –SH _

_...But then I think maybe it wasn't. –SH _

_Your grey dress ended up in the fireplace. __I don't know how this happened. –SH_

_Okay I put it there. It's for your own good. Finished hanging up your clothes in the closet. –SH_

_Bored. –SH _

_BORED. –SH_

_Why aren't you here so I can tell you to shut up? -SH _

_You know you shouldn't wear dresses past your knee with regards to your average-to-short height. –SH _

_I'll go ahead and clean out your closet for you. -SH_

_Just got word- working on a more detailed location for you. We're honing in. Getting close. –SH _

_Haven't slept since you left. –SH_

_What's the name of that shampoo you use? –SH _

_You have appalling taste in cardigans. __They might be in the fire as well._ –SH 

_Entertaining Lestrade. You'd think he would figure it out by now these leads are moot but he's excited. Makes one of us. Should visit Molly maybe? -SH_

_I can't handle this, I think. Molly saw. As usual. –SH _

_You may need to go clothes shopping when you get here. You may only have 1/2 your wardrobe left. –SH _

_1/3. –SH_

_I'll go clothes shopping for you now. You have terrible taste. -SH_

_On the way back I bought you a dozen of those doughnuts you and your American people like so much. I tried one. It's a wonder how you're not diabetic yet. Lestrade likes them. Not surprising. Wonder what John's doing. –SH_

_Still waiting on a location update. I may kill the homeless helpers. Its been 5 days. –SH _

_Maybe you should redo the painting over the fireplace. It's faded. I can hack it off. -SH _

_Tried hacking it off 2 hours ago. Mrs. Hudson's still yelling. Apparently it's 3 in the morning. -SH_

_You missed the new episode of Doctor Who. What happened to the red head? The new girl reminds me of you a bit. It bothers me. –SH _

_ John and I can't contact each other. 221b is off balance. Realizing you two made 99% of the noise in this house …when I wasn't shooting the walls or yelling. –SH_

_Or throwing things. -SH_

_BORED. -SH _

_I don't like 90% of your nail polish colour choices. -SH_

_I got some of that memory foam for the bed. Thought it might help me sleep. -SH_

_Didn't help. I'll take the couch when you get back. -SH_

_We're close. Getting closer. Hang on. –SH _

_Found half a snickers bar under the bed. Do you eat **even** in your sleep? –SH _

_You're immensely unorganized. Indexing your socks. –SH _

_Found a bag of gummy bears at the bottom of the drawer- do you **ever **stop eating? -SH_

_We sent Michael and Alex back to Colorado to sort out the café business. Thought its best. Michael nearly killed Mycroft when he was told he'd have to leave. New respect for your brother. –SH_

_He patted my bum before he left. I'd tell Alex but he winked at me. The violation continues. -SH _

_We have your area. We're moving in tomorrow. John's preparing for battle. We have a plan- sort of. -SH_

_I can't tell you which one is more excited to see you again, John or the man who runs the falafel stand down the block. Apparently half of his revenue has dropped this past week since your absence. You have a thing for pita. -SH_

_Midnight. Been 7 days. Worried. Don't know what will happen. Don't believe a word I say, alright? -SH_

_Morning of. Getting ready. Getting dressed.- SH _

_DID YOU PUT GUM YOU CHEWED IN THE POCKET OF MY BEST SUIT? –SH_

_Putting shoes on. Haven't tampered with those have you? –SH_

_Found a Jolly Rancher in them. Dammit, Madeline. -SH_

_2 hours to your location. –SH _

_This taxi smells like curry. -SH_

_When John and I get you out we can all speak again and live in 221b. -SH_

_I have a strange urge to take over the wheel of this car and run over every biker on the street. It's taking too long. –SH_

_I filled the fridge with food for you. …There may be some body parts I forgot to throw out in there too. -SH_

_ I'm here. Coming for you now. -SH_

_Try not to be too annoying when I walk in. -SH_

_John's here. –SH _

_We're coming for you. -SH _

_Don't be scared. I know you won't be. You're the most stubborn person. –SH_

_You realize you saved yourself from months of agony down to just a short week by deducing what I'd done to your necklace? -SH _

_Clever girl. –SH _

_I'm coming in. I brought you a candy bar you can have afterwards… that is if you haven't ate your own foot already. –SH_

_At the door. Heard his men walk out. -SH_

_Being frisked. Think Michael's jealous somewhere? -SH_

_Moran's not expecting me today, but I'm sure he's prepared. With what, I don't know. -SH_

_I don't know what's going to happen now... –SH_

_Sorry for whatever does. -SH_

Finally, the last one dated hours after the raid on Moran would be Madeline's undoing.

_I had no choice. -SH_

The phone slipped out of Madeline's hand as she lay under the covers of the bed. It was too much to handle. There he was in text form, yet the man running around out there in his body was not him.

What was worse she couldn't blame him. She was unbelievably angry at him yet simultaneously knew she couldn't be- He did it all for her.

Madeline fell asleep hours later to a soaked pillow beneath her swollen cheeks.

* * *

**The Next Morning.**

John rubbed his red eyes as he walked through the living room of 221B. He heard the shower was on and sighed with a shake of his head.

Madeline had gotten in the habit of taking 3 or more showers a day. Sometimes even waking up in the middle of the night to take yet another… anyone knew, doctor or not- she needed help.

The searches for Sherlock always leading to dead ends, it seemed even under substance the man knew how to hide well.

The bed sheets were a tangled mess as John walked into Sherlock's bedroom… or Madeline's bedroom, as of late. She'd clearly had yet another nightmare. He noticed her phone in the middle of the tangled sheets; John was not one to spy but seeing Sherlock's name at the top of her screen was cause for curiosity.

Quite quickly, John read through the last dozen or so text messages Sherlock sent her. They made John miss the consulting detective more than he could possibly express- so wonder she was restless, John could barely contain himself as the memories of Sherlock were laced there waiting for her.

John had his own set of messages from Sherlock during the week they were apart and he was 'dead,' but John had never thought Sherlock would do the same to anyone else. He'd almost forgotten the detective actually loved… he never mentioned it. Always remaining neutral- on topic, focused on getting her back. But John supposed this was Sherlock Holmes in love. Masking it in every possible way yet it being blatantly obvious to the outside eye.

…If only Madeline knew. But John wouldn't tell, he made a promise and regardless- telling her that sort of information would only make the situation worse. She didn't need the situation to be worse. Better her believe her love was one sided rather than knowing the man who she'd never believe actually loved her in return and was possibly lost forever.

"Any luck?"

John turned around to find Madeline's skin dark red as she was wrapped in Sherlock's old robe, she looked at him hopefully. John could feel the steam heat coming off of her from yet another boiling hot shower.

"These seem to be healing rather well…" John said reaching up to her cheek, lightly touching the bruise; he sighed as she looked at him with sadness already knowing the answer, "No. No we haven't. But we're not going to stop Madeline. We'll find him and get him off the junk- I promise."

Madeline nodded, wanting to believe the always-hopeful soldier. She admired him, she always had- but it was moments like these when she saw how pure and lovely his heart truly was.

"To be honest Madeline… it's you I'm worried about." John said hesitantly, "I know you said you don't want to talk to a therapist- and that's absolutely fine, it's not for everyone. But… you have to talk to someone… so, would you be willing to talk to me?" Madeline watched as worry clouded his face, he clearly had no idea how she would react to his suggestion.

"About what precisely?"

"Everything. What happened that week. What you remember, what you did, what you thought… how you feel now, how you felt then- everything." John watched as she sighed, "listen no one said it would be easy, but at this rate by the end of the week we're going to be feeding you out of a tube and your skin is going to get raw, and you will fall into a self-destructive depression so deep that you may never be able to climb back up out of it." John breathed, deciding to choose his next words carefully, "Listen Sherlock is, for us… well, he means a lot. And he's not here- yet. You mean a lot to me too. And, you are in pain, Madeline. …I can't put off helping you any longer. Lestrade will go out and look for him and you're my priority now." He added softly, "Sherlock would have wanted that from the start."

Madeline looked up at John with wide eyes as he nodded, confirming.

"… He would have wanted me to help you before going after him. I can hear him now '_John you moron. No wonder you and your foolish sentiment._'" His accurate impersonation cracked a smile on her face, "So… what do you say? You ready to let someone help you for once, Madeline Smith?" John said, a lightly teasing and hopeful smile on.

Madeline smiled softly back at him, "I guess. I don't want to but I know I should… and maybe I have to. …I have a life to live now, don't I?" She added meekly, the thought sounding bland as it came off her tongue.

John sighed in relief, "Good. I'm proud of you, Madeline."

"And John," Madeline added, "You can call me Maddie, if you want."

John's eyebrows raised in shock, the only person she allowed to call her that was Sherlock.

"Are you… sure?"

"Yes." She smiled, "You… I… well, I admire you, John Watson. You're sort of my hero, in a way…" Madeline eye's began to tear up, she could feel a knot form itself in her throat, "you have no idea how much I died on the inside when I thought you were dead and I thought I'd lost you forever… I came here 3 years ago, leaving the only family I had behind and you became my family here. And you still are. …you have ever right to call me Maddie and I want you to-" She smiled, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, "I find I like hearing it from you as well."

John embraced Madeline tightly. He'd been blessed with a sister- but he'd never been lucky enough to be close to her. …Madeline was the sister he'd always wanted. And he'd help her through to the other side just like she'd helped her brother Michael… and regardless of where Sherlock Holmes was or if he was ever coming back- they would start that painful process tonight.

John couldn't lose Madeline as well as his best friend. No way.

* * *

**3:13 am.**

Anthea's heels clicked loudly as she walked into her boss' office. She'd worked for Mycroft Holmes for 7 years straight and she quite enjoyed her job, mostly because she could gossip with her friends through text and he wouldn't say a word- only because she always got things done right as he said them.

However, throughout those 7 years, Anthea could attest to the fact that she barely even knew her boss. He was a private man, a cold man- and yet had a desperately weak spot for his younger brother. Not out of born affection, but rather- out of guilt. Something he'd done in their past, she was quite certain, but it was never brought up or known what it was that had _actually_ occurred between the Holmes boys. It seemed no one knew- not even that short little blond man that she think may have asked her out once? Possibly? She couldn't remember.

But now, it seemed, Mycroft was more desperate than ever.

"Did you get the files?" He asked, raising his face from his palms to look up at her. His eyes wide and red, he hadn't slept in days.

"I did." She placed them on his desk.

"You know very well, Anthea," Mycroft said softly as he opened the folder, "Lucy may very well be his last hope…"

"I'm not quite so sure, sir." Anthea replied. She could feel her phone vibrate in her pocket, but this time she didn't pick it up. Instead she watched as Mycroft read the papers, he closed his eyes in agony, and rubbed his face in exhaustion.

"This is not good." He said looking up at her, closing the file folder. "We have to make sure Sherlock doesn't find out about this. About her."

"Do you want me to erase her, sir?"

"…No." Mycroft's guilt got the better of him, "Not yet."

His phone vibrated loudly against the desk. Picking it up Mycroft showed no emotion as he read what it wrote;

_I want control over my account. –SH _

_You gave me control over it, or have you forgotten already? –M. _

_That was 10 years ago. I want it now, or I'll find other means of getting the money. -SH_

Mycroft groaned rubbing his eyes, knowing Sherlock putting himself back in a bareknuckle fight would not benefit him.

_How's the detox? –M. _

_Get it done or I'll find a way. –SH _

Clearly Mycroft's berating wasn't getting him anywhere. _Sentiment? _He thought, might actually work. His brother detested it as much as he did- but Mycroft knew from the start what John and Madeline could be- and became to Sherlock. John was the obvious conclusion- Madeline was the shocking one… Mycroft would Sherlock's weakness towards them to his advantage. It was his last shot.

_Madeline misses you, so does John. Do have any idea what state you've left her in? Dear me, you must take great pleasure in knowing you saved the one girl and only got halfway through the job- how very much 'the new you' of this whole situation. Apparently she's falling into depression. She's rescued from the physical pain and yet she suffers through the emotional. What a perfect moment for you to loose self-control over one forced hit. Looks like Moran won after all and Madeline and John are the one's who will suffer from it. …Well done, little brother. –M. _

Minutes passed.

This time, there was no response.

"Do you want me to track where his messages are coming from?" Anthea asked hesitantly.

Mycroft paused, "No…" He looked up at her, a curious eyebrow raised, "we may not have to."

* * *

**Felt like it was time for a bit of a breather before some of the really intense chapters that are coming up happen cause... yeah. They're going to be doozies. **

******Hope you all enjoyed this more mellow slightly angsty chapter ;)**


	8. A Clear Storm

**Sorry its taken so long for the update! This week has been unusually slammed for me, but I somehow have managed to pull through and here I am :) Bless you all for waiting. And bless my Beta- The Wordy Lass! She is fab and saves me so much time! **

**((So, I sort of had these conversations planned to be in an earlier chapter during part 3 when Sherlock and Madeline's relationship was becoming unclear and her emotions were all over the place regarding him to sort of explain the organization of the madness, but it didn't work out, and I realize they're necessary here! So it's a touch over due in explanations because most of the relationship up/downs were in part 3, but here it is- for those of you wondering where the thread linking Madeline and Sherlock's relationship throughout the story is- especially on Madeline's end. This was always meant to be in there, so I re-wrote it and here it is, finally!))**

**Thank you to: Alithe, xoxopinkxoxo, Amehhh, Guest, amaysingx, sailormajinmoon, MonzaBird, Midnight Valentina, InfectedWalker, GrilledCheezus, Empress of Verace, Monique Seiei, Gwilwillith, NamiMakimono, and Deathcab4kimmie ****for your comments! **

**ily ****aaalll and every single one of your words were _priceless_.**

**Onwards!**

* * *

Madeline groaned, her head turning from side to side. Her eyes felt heavy still but yet she was certain she'd slept for quite a while.

"John?" She groaned, her throat dry. Her wrists and ankles burned. Her hip was heavy and felt clogged, like the cuts in it were infected…

Just as she was to reach her hand down and cup it to see what was wrong- she realized she couldn't.

Immediately her eyes shot open- a loud gasp leaving her throat, her heart began to pound wildly in her chest and nausea filled her as she saw the man above her.

_No... No..._

"Lovely dream, I'd say?" Moran commented casually with a smile.

"I-… I…." Madeline's voice quivered and shook as her head turned to look around her realizing she was in the warehouse still, and worse- it seemed she'd never left. "I…I-"

"Yes, goodness you took a long while to wake up." Moran shrugged, "But that's what I give for injecting too much hallucinogenic into your blood stream. Silly 'ole me, forgetting how thin you've become over these past couple of weeks-"

"I can't be here…" Madeline's eyes were wide, red, swollen, her arms and ankles pulled against the chains, "I'm not here. …**I'm not here!**" Her voice echoed as she screamed the words.

Moran chuckled, his green eyes curious as he watched her, "Had a good dream, did you? Can't be that good considering you kept saying '_Sherlock, no, come back_' But regardless- I'm afraid I come baring bad news."

Tears poured down Madeline's cheeks as her body was wracked with sobs.

"Found out about 'ole Johnny boy-" Sebastian shook his head, "They didn't really think I'd fall for the same trick twice, did they? Two fake murders at Bart's? I mean I know they were thinking on their feet- but that doctor is unoriginal. I'll tell you though, he does seem to make a good pet for Sherlock… or I suppose I should say _did_."

Moran tilted his head and poked out his bottom lip looking down at Madeline. She squealed and screamed, shaking her head as she felt his cold fingers run through her hair.

"Don't worry, Maddie-" Moran smiled, "I made it a quick death. Bullet to the head through the window of that Mary's house. We spared her though, don't worry." He began to chuckle, "I'm not an animal."

"_No, no, no, no…_" Madeline shook her head, continuing to cry.

"Aw, you really liked that silly little doctor, didn't you? Man, I wish I could have_ seen_ Sherlock's face when he found out. Of course I'll get to see it when he finally finds you-"

Madeline's eyes quickly darted down to find her locket necklace gone from against her chest, her eyes wide as she looked up at Sebastian.

"You didn't _really_ think I wouldn't figure that out, did you?" He chuckled. "If Sherlock ever does find you, he'll be happy to see himself commemorated on you. My beautiful little piece of artwork on your hip that'll last forever even after I kill him. Speaking of which- I was thinking we should commemorate that brave and stupid doctor so you can remember him forever as well."

Reaching behind him Moran pulled out a familiar knife… it was still covered in Madeline's blood from its carving of Sherlock's name on her right hip.

"Let's see here…" Moran reached down and exposed her left hip. Leaning over he placed the tip of the knife near her bone, "…is it John with an H or without?"

He asked casually.

"**No!**" Madeline screamed and began to squirm as she felt the knife pierce through her skin, the first drop of blood dripping down her hip- "**No! Stop! Please! Please stop! Please, _please, please_…**" She sobbed, her eyes slamming closed from the pain.

"God, no please… please stop…."

As she opened her eyes- tears dripping down her cheeks- they went wide as she saw Sherlock's wide-eyed face looking down at her.

Her hallucinations were taunting her again.

"No- No, it's not you..." Madeline gasped, pushing him away as he reached for her.

"Madeline-"

"No, no!" She shouted in horror squirming away from his clutches.

"Madeline!"

Sherlock reached over and attempted to hold her arms down- but the immense strength of her legs kicked at his chest, knocking the air out of him and pushing him away. "Go away! Go away! Go away!"

The torment was too much and she began to sob- never had she felt so helpless and weak.

What was real?

Madeline didn't realize it but she didn't have very much time to ponder that question. She found herself being pulled into a deep sleep after feeling a light pinch against her arm.

* * *

This wasn't what he'd hoped to come back and see. Not at all.

Not that Sherlock knew what he was hoping for- or if he'd even happened to hope at all. The past week had been a bit of a blur- but after receiving Mycroft's text he was sure that he'd only _hoped_ his older brother had (as usual) been over dramatic.

But it seemed, on this rare occasion, he was understating a situation for once in his life.

"Don't worry, she'll be out for the next 4 hours." John said, gathering his breath, having just ran into the room. Lifting his hand he showed the empty syringe, it was 4 in the morning and John had made a habit of sleeping out on the couch for moments like these that had occurred over the past week. "Light sedative. Sometimes she gets so bad she can't tell what's real anymore…."

Sherlock sat silent on the bed, his feet on the floor, Madeline laying silently asleep next to him. His suit was a wreck, his eyes were swollen red and he looked more exhausted than John had ever seen him. In fact- Sherlock Holmes looked like a bloody mess.

"So you're back then?" John commented with a nod, breaking the silence. Sherlock's empty eyes looked up at him silently, "Because if you just plan on leaving again… don't bother. Don't come back until you're certain you're going to stay, you'll do more harm than good-"

"Don't you think I've thought about that?" Sherlock snapped suddenly, his temper flaring. But he caught himself quickly, knowing he had no right after everything John had done. His shoulders shrunk back down; his outburst it seemed didn't have an effect on John who it seemed had been expecting this moment. Sherlock would have been touched that his friend still managed to have such faith in him if Sherlock did not have such little faith in himself.

"Good to see you're yourself again." John nodded.

Silence filled the room. Sherlock's eyes wandered over to Madeline- her thin limbs, pale skin, straggled hair and healing bruises- if possible she looked even worse than him.

"You ready?" John said rolling down his shirt sleeve, bringing back the consulting detective's attention, "…I think it's high time you and I had a little talk."

* * *

Sherlock sighed as he drank the tea, his hands shaking as he clanked lightly against the saucer. In his usual chair, John sitting across from him- all of it seemed like a distant dream after the past week.

"You're shaking." John stated.

"Brilliant deduction."

"Are you on anything?" The doctor asked casually, expecting any answer. "I need to know."

Placing the cup and saucer back on the table, Sherlock slid off his tattered suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves- John's eyebrows perked.

"How many have you got on there?"

"4 on each arm." John eyed the nicotine patches as Sherlock rolled the sleeves back down, "3 on my back. One on each thigh."

"What?" John smiled suddenly with relief, teasing in his voice, "That's all?"

"No," Sherlock snipped, "There's one on my backside but I always thought you might seem less privy to know that information."

"So, you didn't take anything then?"

"No." Sherlock gritted through his teeth. Even the thought of injecting himself, snorting something- anything made him shiver in anticipation and utter lust for the drugs. "Nothing after what Moran had me take. I managed to... resist. Sort of."

"Mycroft said you had no money, he froze all of your accounts so I don't understand…Where have you _been_ all this time, Sherlock?"

"_Out_."

"Goodness, thank God I asked." John quipped sarcastically, eliciting an eye roll from Sherlock. His fingers tapped on the chair and his knees were bouncing. The nicotine made him jittery and John thought maybe Sherlock had one too many patches on- but he'd take a thousand of them over drug addiction again.

Sherlock's eyes landed on John's, clearly not wanting to tell him, "I fought, alright? It was the only way to get funds."

"So if you were just buying patches, why not come back here? Mycroft would have unfrozen the money for that-"

"BECAUSE HE'S NOT MY KEEPER!" Sherlock shouted suddenly, his face frightfully angry.

John's eyes widened and his eyebrows raised as he watched Sherlock breathe heavily, "Shhhhh!" John hissed looking between Madeline (or) Sherlock's bedroom door, and Sherlock "I gave her a light sedative not a tranquilizer!"

"John, when did it all become so complicated?" Sherlock thought out loud, closing his eyes scratching his fingers through his dark unkempt hair, his knees continuing to bounce.

"Oh, I don't know I'd say the first day you decided to go out and get Madeline and then fall in love with her." John smiled lightly as Sherlock's eyes opened into vengeful little slits- still not happy or comfortable with his unfortunate sentiments being expressed verbally. John shrugged happy with the reaction he got, "But that's just a guesstimate."

"Perhaps_ you_ should consider the fact that she wasn't given a tranquilizer." Sherlock drawled, reminding John he didn't want anyone to know- let alone her. His body came down from its shakiness as the subject geared towards Madeline.

"Don't worry Sherlock-" John pointed his thumb towards the closed bedroom door, "You've brought her so close, pushed her so far away, confused her so much, made her so happy and hurt her so extravagantly that I don't think she'd even believe you even if _you_ told her the truth about how you felt." John noticed some twinges of regret in Sherlock's face, "She'd just think you were messing with her again? Trying to hurt her? …playing some sort of sick game with her emotions?"

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock spat, "I'm not Moriarty or Moran, I'm not _quite_ as disgusting as you're describing me-"

"No, but what the bloody hell is she supposed to think? Hm?" John inquired, and one of the few times in their friendship- Sherlock had no grounds to speak. "After all of this? The past 3 years of an emotional rollercoaster ride-"

"I_ saved_ her, didn't I?" Sherlock used the word mockingly with distain.

"Yes, but why didn't you come back if you weren't planning on going back to the drugs?"

Sherlock hesitated in a rare moment, "…I wasn't entirely sure that's how I would stay. ...I can't remember most of what happened."

John nodded solemnly, "Well then… this is your chance. You're here now. I'll talk to Maddie first thing in the morning-" Sherlock raised his eyebrows in shock, but John didn't notice as he continued, "We'll be keeping an eye on you then? For the next week or so? Mycroft should already know by now. I'll text Lestrade tomorrow, he had another divorce meeting tonight after he spent all day searching for you, again-"

"_What did you call her_?" Sherlock's voice was soft yet almost threateningly upset.

John sighed as he realized what he'd said, he'd let it slip. This wasn't what he wanted to discuss. "She-"

"Gave you permission?" Sherlock quirked an eyebrow harshly, John nodded. "Ah, good. Seems I've been replaced-"

"No, not replaced, Sherlock, she and I we just… we sort of go together in our own little way and you know I've been helping her- talking her through it all everyday since she's arrived, I've held her hand in her sleep, I'm the one who's been trying to get her to eat and trying to get her to shower less- I'm the one who's been tending after her physical wounds- I'm the one that's not only been her doctor but her friend and you're not going to guilt me out of it."

John breathed heavily, "I know the drugs weren't by choice for you, and no one's blaming you- in fact your return has been long overdue-" Sherlock raised both eyebrows this time at the sentiment, John pointed at him, "Don't get cocky, you shit. What I'm saying is, regardless of what was your fault or what wasn't- you've missed her at her worst."

Silence passed for a moment or two as John read Sherlock's downtrodden face with a chuckle, he wasn't going to sugarcoat it for the detective. "What? ...You thought this was bad? What just happened back there- Sherlock, that was_ mild_ compared to the other nights. I'm lucky she's even been able to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time _with _the sedative."

Silence spread between them.

"So... I've become second to her, then?" Sherlock nodded once, strangely enough without distain, but with bitter acceptance.

John bit his lip, running his hand across his face he said what he didn't want to say, but knew Sherlock had to hear, "But were you ever _really_ first?"

Sherlock's face contorted into a shock as if John's words had jumped through his whole body.

"…Why don't _you_ tell _me_?" Sherlock mocked his current known status with Madeline, his voice deep and nearly threatening.

John knew he was walking on shaky ground- he had to remind himself Sherlock was still on edge and still feeling every inch of addiction within his reach.

Of course John knew Sherlock was first in her life; and himself and Michael along for the ride in a different way. But John knew he had to push Sherlock in the right direction. While Mycroft disagreed completely- John was quite certain Sherlock expressing his feelings to Madeline would push him in the right direction for both of them. This was the way to do it- baiting him.

"All I'm saying is… She doesn't put people first if she doesn't know they'll care for her back. She's a smart girl."

"I juiced up for her- didn't I?" Sherlock spat, his temper rising. Hearing something about 'caring' would put a roll in the eyes in the consulting detective, but he found himself geared more towards uncontrollable rage this time.

John saw it too, he never realized how sensitive Sherlock had become on the subject. Clearly Sherlock in love was a delicate thing. But Sherlock on love attempting to overcome addiction- a dangerous thing.

"That's not what I'm saying Sherlock," John replied calmly, worried about another nicotine induced freak-out, "I'm saying if you don't tell her you care about her-" Sherlock scoffed, "or at least _show_ her you do after all this time and all the bloody confusion you've put her through because you're so determined to hide your feelings from her-" John continued before Sherlock could retort, his mouth opening ready to do so, "You're going to lose her. Sherlock. Do you understand?" John reiterated with no room for argument. "YOU will LOSE her."

Sherlock closed his mouth slowly, and nodded once.

"And I'll tell you this, Sherlock…" John warned, "Stop playing games with her, alright? If you're going to be close to her- be close to her. If you're not going to be- then don't be. Stop fooling around with this middle ground. The poor girl is in love with you for some reason. And every other day she's wants to strangle you and wants to get over you because of your coldness, But then next day she's on the verge of tears because of some sort of affection you've shown her."

Sherlock stared at John attentively, knowing in this strange moment Sherlock was guilty of all those things. And shamelessly so because he was selfish. He wanted Madeline but didn't want her. He couldn't have both but yet that's how he'd treated her.

"Stop stringing her along. Make a choice. Act on your emotions- or don't. But bloody_** pick one**_, and pick one soon. Before _all of this_ Madeline could barely take it, now I don't think she's emotionally stable enough to go through your maddening back and forth of emotional torture. No, not after her week with Moran. And you don't have to be a genius to know that."

John's words were harsh, and somewhat cruel- but Sherlock needed to hear them.

The consulting detective, in yet another rare moment, looked down pensively and only nodded.

* * *

The next morning Madeline woke much calmer than John had anticipated she would. Her eyes slowly fluttered opened as they landed on his face, he sat next to her hip on the bed holding her hand as he smiled down at her. He gave her hand a squeeze reminding her he was real.

"How bad was I?"

"Not too bad…" John shrugged, "Your dosage was a bit lighter and you slept through it fine. Nightmare didn't seem as bad as the others."

"…I saw Sherlock in my nightmare last night. It was different this time." Madeline commented attempting to remain indifferent, sitting up in the bed, her back against the pillows shaking her head. "It was weird, neither of you are usually in them. I'd say I was shook up but... he just stared back at me."

John bit his lip and scratched his nose letting go of her hand, "Yes, well, I'm afraid that wasn't part of your dream. That was real."

"He's…" Madeline asked astonished, happiness and sadness running through her simultaneously, "He's back?"

John nodded adding quickly, "And he's clean. Sort of. You'll be happy to know he's been binging on nicotine patches in lieu of drugs. He's determined to stay off now, which is good. But we'll have to keep an eye on him. You know, maybe a bit of house-arrest to make sure the last of the affects of the drugs are gone." Madeline nodded.

John watched her wide eyes search down at Sherlock's blanket as she was lost deep with worried thought, maybe her emotional state wasn't strong enough for her to handle seeing him? If, by some chance, Sherlock did break again under the pressure of the cravings that were attacking him constantly now- this would not go well with her.

"Madeline…" She looked up at him with a light smile on her face, attempting to cover up her worry, "I'm sorry, I know this isn't what we'd agreed you'd open up to me about but-… how did you fall in love with Sherlock?" Her smile faltered, "I know you do, so there's no point in denying it anymore. But I mean, I think something I've always wondered is… _how_? _Why?_"

"Well… you love him so- you can just ask yourself that-"

"In a totally different way." John shook his head, "Friendship is different than that sort of connection. Yours is… different. You were giving up a lot more when you fell in love with him. So, how exactly? I mean- I didn't believe it until a not too long ago after the fall, and that's only because I was quite certain you hated him before. But what happened along the way, I mean, to make you change so drastically?"

Madeline shrugged, "I didn't." John looked at her, completely lost at her answer. "You know how someone annoys you, and pisses you off, and you hate them and hate them and you want to but then you realize that there's more to them than what's on the surface? Then you see all of that depth hidden underneath- and then suddenly all of those things you hated before aren't flaws anymore- they're echoes of what's being hidden behind them?" John nodded.

"And then…" She took a deep breath, "You realize, even more suddenly, that all of those flaws- those echoes- those things that you hate, you don't only hate- but you love as well?"

John knew, with Sherlock Holmes, that was the exact thing.

"So…" Madeline continued, "first I hated him, then I loved him, then I hated him, then I loved him, then I tried to get over him, loved him again, tried to get over him again- and now that he's back I can't keep trying to do anything when it comes to him. He's like a constant storm- I've wanted to pretend it's not raining but it so obviously is.

What he and I have is like… chemical. And things are never simple with Sherlock Holmes, are they? With you regarding him they were simpler- you're just a friend. He always wanted a friend though or at least he realized he did. I'm… something he _never_ wanted, I think. I can feel us tied together, from the start I felt it and both of us trying to pull away- him more than me. First I just thought it was me trying to hang onto him but now…" Madeline shook her head.

She looked up at John, seeing his unyielding attention on her and her words.

"Love isn't a straight line, is it?" She asked with a light laugh, "It's not- you know, this whole '_you meet, you fall in love, you're together_' it's not real. That's not real life. This isn't a fairytale. Not with me, not with Sherlock. I tried that once, Danny- remember? That didn't end well."

John and her snorted at the reminder of her twice called off marriage.

"Love is madness, it's chaos, one day I loved Sherlock the next I could ring his throat and wanted nothing to do with him… but I always came back. Because I realized even when I hated him I always loved him." Madeline shrugged, "And maybe that's always been my fault. Falling in love with a man who would never love me back.

I'm so emotionally unstable, you see. One minute I'm happy and the next I can't stop crying. One day I want him so bad I could scream, the next I want to get over him and never want to see him again. And he's so… _stable_. Off drugs- of course. ...He's so certain of everything he allows himself to feel. My insanity couldn't have been very good for him in that area."

"Well," John interjected, "Maybe not but… I mean, I don't know exactly what's happened between the two of you- but I don't need to be a genius to know he's not exactly been consistent."

Madeline nodded, "No, he hasn't. It's infuriating, and frustrating, and confusing and- I just- …"

She took a deep breath.

"We get close- he pulls away. We get closer- he pulls away farther. There's nothing clean or clear about our past- it's been everywhere- we've lived 100 different relationships in one that _we can't even define_. ...I don't know who he is to me because he hasn't figured out what I am to him. Does he love me? Sometimes I think he does, or he could, but then every other moment I can't be more sure that he doesn't love me and that he never will."

She looked up at John, her eyes glossy, tired, exhausted, "Could you imagine John, loving someone for the_ first time ever_ **that** deeply, then one day having them make you think they could love you, and then the next having them shove you away as if you never meant anything in the first place? …After every cold moment I always tell myself, 'I'll get over him, I'll move on because he's Sherlock Holmes- he'll never love and he'll never love me-' but then he comes back all warm and giving the next minute. And then I'm lost to him all over again."

A tear dripped down the side of her cheek, which she immediately wiped. She smiled and laughed lightly as John handed her a tissue, "You must think I'm pathetic, huh? I've literally become every girl I used to roll my eyes in disdain and pity at."

"No, I don't think you're pathetic Madeline…" John shook his head, he grabbed her hand and made sure he had her full attention, "I think you're more human than all of us. …I think you're the most pure form of a human I've ever seen."

"Well… but look at what its done? I'm still hoping, even after it all, that one day he might be the man I think he is beneath all those walls."

"Madeline…" John chose his words carefully, making sure not to give his promised secret away, "I think he knows who you are to him… he just needs to come to terms with it. He just doesn't like change, is all. You've thrown him for a spin. I'm somewhere in the middle but you're the exact opposite of him."

"…But I can't wait forever for him to come to terms with me. It's been 3 years, you know…" Madeline shook her head, "I'm tired of being yo-yoed by him. I…" She bit her lip, "If it happens again, I think I might have to leave, John. I may be in love but I'm not an idiot."

John closed his eyes, recounting and swearing that he hoped against all hope that his last comments to Sherlock from the previous night sunk straight into that man's thick head.

"I know, Madeline… and no one would blame you." John placed his hands on her cheeks and gave her a smile, hoping to uplift her spirits, "You're no masochist."

Madeline, gave him a light giggle. "So… is he really out there then?" John nodded. "Christ, I want to strangle him."

"Sounds pretty average." John smiled when he saw another rare smile from her; he realized then that the two smiles she'd given were the first ones since she'd came back- and both were on the topics and thoughts of Sherlock.

_I think ...I can see it now._ John thought, they were opposites- yes, but they brought things out in the other that no one else could. He'd been astonished twice today- first when Sherlock was driven speechless at their conversation about Madeline, and the second when Madeline smiled for the first time in weeks just at the mention of him.

"Ready to come out and see him?"

Madeline nodded, John helped her out of the bed.

"Give me 2 minutes to change out of this." Madeline looked down at Sherlock's robe that was wrapped around her body, "And make sure to hide your gun before I get out there."

* * *

"Stop bouncing your legs," John said as they sat across from each other in their chairs, "Take off one of those bloody patches."

"No." Sherlock countered with a shake of his head, chewing on his bottom lip. "God only knows what'll happen."

"Well, we're going to have to start weaning you off of them. And… I think it's time we maybe start trying to get back into routine? Hm? Ready to take another case?"

"YES!" Sherlock suddenly shouted loudly, John winced at his sudden volume.

"Alright-" John leaned forward and ripped a patch off of Sherlock's wrist. "That's it. Weaning starts now."

Expecting a clever retort back from Sherlock, John saw that he wasn't paying attention to him anymore. Madeline had walked in the room. Sherlock did well to show nothing but indifference on his face- as, surprisingly- did Madeline.

All three remained silent as Madeline stood, her arms crossed, staring at the consulting detective stoically.

The silence was deafening and John wanted nothing more to do than to scream at them both. _You love each other- you MORONS. Congrats- The secret's out!_

But Madeline it seemed, would be the first to break the silence as she stated quite simply:

"You're an idiot."

Her words brought a little tug at the corner of Sherlock's mouth.

John started, his eyes darting back and forth between the pair- never seeing them look more like a couple then they did just then- more than he'd _ever_ noticed before.

"I suppose I am." Sherlock said.

"Are you off?"

"…Trying." Sherlock pushed the word out of his mouth, hating it. "But so far, yes."

"Good!" Madeline replied carelessly with a shrug, her foot tapping on the floor. "Suppose I should thank you for doing that for me-"

"Don't." Sherlock said sternly, "No more point for acknowledgement."

John's face scrunched in confusion- it was like they were speaking their own language. What the hell was wrong with them?

Much to John's surprise, Madeline nodded. "Okay."

Silence passed as the two continued to stare at the other with silent indifference- neither willing to show any emotion.

_You're both the most stubborn little shits I've ever had the most trying patience of coming across._ John thought impatiently, keeping himself from rolling his eyes.

"Alright then." John clapped his hands, "Plan is- Madeline and I watch you like bloody hawks. House-arrest, Sherlock, for the next week. Weaning you off those bloody patches, and I'm having Lestrade undo that secret hatch on your window. Then… cases? Yes?"

"My case?" Madeline asked curiously to John, happy she could finally ask. "Do we keep going with that?"

John looked to Sherlock, Madeline following suit.

"Well, it's certainly not resolved till those documents are found, is it?" Sherlock replied smartass-ly, steepling his fingers under his chin- finally he looked and sounded like his old self- an arrogant smartass. "Delayed. For now. Madeline can keep trying to open the safe, until then I'm sure most criminals will be preoccupied with the fact that the head of the largest criminal consulting organization is in custody. Gives us time."

"You mean gives _Madeline_ time." John commented, reminding Sherlock where he stood on Sherlock knowing how to open the case and refusing to tell anyone he did aside from not actually doing it. "_She's_ the one still in danger here."

"As usual." Madeline mumbled and shrugged, three years ago this would have shocked her- but it was no longer news anymore.

"Oop-oop!" Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door opening it with a tray in hand, "Madeline- I know it's hard but you haven't eaten properly and you're all skin and bones now dearie s- _Oh my goodness_!"

A sudden loud clanking filled 221B as the tray slipped out of Mrs. Hudson's hands as they came up to cover her mouth. Her eyes landed on an uncomfortable Sherlock who readjusted on the chair.

John smiled as Mrs. Hudson bounced quickly over to him, Sherlock stood to meet her and allowed her embrace.

She was perhaps the only person either of them had ever seen Sherlock hug willingly.

_He's never hugged me._ Madeline realized suddenly, wondering what that felt like. She shook her head, knowing it was not the time to fantasize. Instead she watched with a smile as Sherlock's back stiffened as Mrs. Hudson held onto him for just a little bit too long.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson pulled away with a smile, wiping her eyes as she slapped her hands on his chest. Reaching up to his sunken in cheeks she began to reprimand him, "Oh stupid man, look at you! You and Madeline- malnutritioned! Don't you know how to feed yourself? Where have you been off to all this bloody time!" Sherlock rolled his eyes more than once and Mrs. Hudson continued relentlessly on her rant.

Madeline took this opportunity, a light smile on her and John's face as they watched the exchange happily, to bring up what she didn't want to say in front of Sherlock.

"John," She said softly gathering his attention, "Why'd you… stop? With my name, I mean."

John's smile fell slightly, he bit his lip and looked at her sadly for a moment, Madeline followed his eyes which went back to look at Sherlock who was now having his hair properly put in place by Mrs. Hudson (which he was not too happy about), John and Madeline turned to look at each other again.

Madeline understood why John had stopped.

"I want to, I already almost do it each time, you know, calling you _Maddie_- but..." John began.

"No." Madeline shook her head, placing her hand on his shoulder, "It's alright. I understand." She sighed. Sitting on the arm of John's chair, they both continued to watch the older woman baby the big consulting detective with great amusement. "So... house-arrest huh? This should be fun."

Madeline said softly, John smiled.

* * *

**221B is occupied again! But I'm afraid nothing is the same, so much to overcome (or not), so many questions to be answered (or not), so many actions to take... **

**(or not)... ****  
**


	9. House-Arrest

**Hello everyone! Here with another chapter! **

**Thank you to: Amehhh, amaysingx, Alithe, InfectedWalker, Empress of Verace, LLpottle, Midnight Valentina, HC, Gwilwillith, GrilledCheezus, sailormajinmoon, and NamiMakimono. Loves of my life!**

**And ****Thank you to The Wordy Lass! My lovely Beta! **

**Ok so I'm not going to prolong by talking. ENJOY! **

* * *

221B was a full flat again. It seemed that things would go back to normal… maybe.

* * *

**Day One.**

**Morning.**

_Tap._

_Tap tap tap-_

"Hm, hmm…."

…

_Tap tap ta-_

"OH WILL YOU STOP THAT INCESSANT NOISE!" Sherlock shouted at the top of his lungs throwing his book off his lap sitting up at the living room table during breakfast.

John and Madeline watched the poor victim to Sherlock's withdrawal fly away with a look of horror in its eyes.

And that was the last time the blue bird came to the window of 221B.

* * *

**Afternoon.**

Madeline sat in John's chair, humming to herself as she let the brush slide over her fingernail. She'd thought all morning about where sleeping arrangements would happen. Things were not very clear with Sherlock back. She and John had such a set routine before- she would sleep in Sherlock's bed and John would sleep on the couch- waiting to see if the nightmares would stop.

But Madeline was resolved to change that- no, she refused to allow drugs or anyone be conducive to her getting better. _No_, she told John, _no more drugs_. If she had a nightmare and woke up hysterical… She'll have to deal with it. John tried to argue with her- but Madeline was done. She had her mind set. She no longer saw herself as a victim- the self pity was over.

She wanted life to go back to the way it was… minus the being kidnapped bit. Her physical wounds were healing, her emotional ones were well on their way. She wasn't unrealistic about herself or what had happened- quite the contrary. She just knew she was well past the mourning stage at the loss of her tortured innocence. That week with Moran would always haunt her- but it didn't mean she couldn't try.

"_Hm, Hmm_…"

Madeline looked up at Sherlock who cleared his throat. He was sitting across from her in his own chair, his foot twitching, his hands steepled under his lips as he looked at her like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting with anger.

"Something wrong?" She inquired.

"That colour…" Sherlock spat disdainfully, pointing to the bright neon green she'd chosen to messily paint on her short nails, "Is unsuitable. I told you you had terrible taste in nail polish colours. As I recall, I threw that one away."

"Yes, I know- I got your text messages." Madeline said. His eyes froze on her, unmoving. A moment of silence passed between them. This was the first mention of those texts. Madeline wasn't ready to face that yet. "…I borrowed this from Mrs. Hudson."

For a moment Madeline actually thought he might acknowledge the messages he'd sent her before going off the rails. But instead, he answered simply with the quirk of an eyebrow and a blunt tone, "It's atrocious."

"So?" Madeline countered rolling her eyes, smugly blowing on her nails. It was true, even she didn't like the colour… she just knew it would piss Sherlock off.

Sherlock's eyes turned into little slits as he observed her smugness, a little pride unwillingly filling him.

How he wanted to hate her and everything she did.

"You put colour on your toes."

"Wow, amazing deduction." Madeline's tone dripped with sarcasm.

"You never put colour on your toes because they get ruined from your ballet pointe's- the ones I bought you are still gathering dust, clearly not worn since your performance that night-"

"So?" Madeline defended a little too quickly.

Deciding that was the end of that, he changed the subject, swearing to deal with that issue later.

"…Eat." Sherlock demanded… for the 10th time that morning.

"You first." Madeline raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not hungry."

"Well neither am I."

"I've trained my body, I know its functions- you have no such regard. You're turning into a skeleton when you once ate like an animal." Sherlock said heatedly, her stubbornness getting to him. "That doesn't sound like you're '_determined'_ to get better, as you told John, now does it?"

Madeline stared at him with a stony expression, "I'll start eating when you stop twitching."

A little growl left Sherlock's chest, she was starving and he was an addict- what a pair they made. Madeline knew how to spar.

Silence filled the room; both of them staring at each other- daring the other to speak in the midst of their duel.

Sherlock filled that challenge first to demand, once more, regarding her nail polish colour with a growl.

"Take it off. -"

"_No_."

Madeline slowly lifted her fingers as she stared at him tauntingly, and continued to blow on her nails, a light smile on her face.

Sherlock glared at her as they sat in straight silence for the next 20 minutes.

* * *

**Evening.**

"Toes, did you get toes?" Sherlock said as he rifled through the bags in the kitchen that John brought back from Bart's like they were groceries.

"Yes, yes I got everything on the list, Sherlock. Molly seemed ecstatic for once. …She seems different."

"Mmm," Sherlock mumbled uninterested, organizing the parts.

John's eyes turned to Madeline, "Have you eaten today?"

Just as she was about to answer, Sherlock took the liberty of answering for her, "Two gummy bears… which she regurgitated later."

"Madeline!" John shouted, loosing all of his patience and his cool. "That's it, that's literally it- you're too far under weight. I'm going to have to get you fed through a tube. That's it. I'm making a call-"

John left no time for Madeline to argue as he pulled out his phone and made his way into his room. As he slammed the door behind him Madeline's eyes hesitantly fell on Sherlock, waiting for him to make a snide comment about her inability to eat, as of late, but he didn't even acknowledge her as he continued to organize the fingers and toes by size.

She found herself staring at his profile- how normal he looked then. Almost as if it was impossible that this man was so different when under the influence of drugs.

It was half a minute later and the raising of an eyebrow from Sherlock when Madeline realized she'd been caught staring. Quickly she turned around.

* * *

**Night.**

Madeline was settled into bed, worry filling her at the prospect of having to be fed by tube. She wanted to eat but… feared to. Moran had only fed her after having played with her for a bit. Food, in a way, still remained as a reminder of that. Before it had been a comfort, but now it had changed into a fear.

As promised, John slept in his room- no drugs allowed for her. Which in turn worked out well - just in case Sherlock got into the stash. But now the question was- where was Sherlock going to sleep? Turns out John had already answered that for them all.

Sherlock opened and closed his bedroom door. Madeline watched him with wide eyes, sheets pulled up to her chin as he paid her no attention; he had somehow managed to get into his pajamas before entering.

He rearranged some of his items. Folding and throwing into a corner Madeline's clothes which were strewn all over the room- much to his annoyance. The silence between them was deafening. Madeline even began to wonder if he knew she was there.

A minute went past and she subconsciously began to tap her finger nails on the headboard above her.

_tap, tap, tap, tap, tap_

...Or was it purposely?

_tap, tap, tap tap, tap-_

"Will you _**desist**_!?" Sherlock hissed looking back at her with murderous eyes. Madeline held back her smile as she nodded, bringing her green nails back down to her lap. He went back to throwing her clothes off of his perfectly indexed drawers and the room went back to silence.

"Do you know how tube feeding is done?" Sherlock said suddenly. His cool deep voice flowing through the room. He turned and raised a clever eyebrow to Madeline who looked back at him without an answer- all hints of teasing gone. . "Of course you don't. Allow me to explain-"

Madeline squealed when he stalked to her in two long strides and ripped the covers from over her. She was dressed in her regular pajamas- no longer wearing Sherlock's as he was back (she hoped he hadn't noticed she'd commandeered them for the week he was gone- but was quite certain he did as her scent covered the PJs he was wearing- even she could smell it).

With a gasp she felt her stomach expose itself to the cool air of the room as he lifted her top to right above her navel before his one finger came crashing down to a harsh poke next to her belly button.

"There." Sherlock declared disdainfully, digging in his finger. Madeline winced at the pressure. Sherlock's cold eyes found hers as he pulled his finger away, "That's where they're going to cut a hole in, then insert a rubber tube-" Madeline swallowed as Sherlock's eyes bore into her own, his voice dropping in tone. "And then they're going to have to hand-sew your flesh tightly around it to keep the tube snug. Then, they'll attach a feeding bag to the end and you'll have to walk around with a tube coming out of your stomach." Madeline swallowed, wondering why he was being so cruel in scaring her- knowing that she'd already been through enough with Moran, "And you'll be awake for all this." He tacked on smoothly as if she were 5.

Sherlock didn't need to ask, he deduced the question in the expression of her horrified and hurt face, "I'm only telling you exactly what's going to happen if you don't clean up soon and start eating."

"Look who's talking!"

"I'm here aren't I?!" Sherlock hissed, his eyes frightfully wild, "I'm clean, aren't I!"

Madeline took a deep breath, "I can't."

"You can, you moron." Sherlock eyes nearly burned into her, he was more than a little upset. "Stop this-"

"Stop what!?" Madeline shouted, her temper flaring. He turned halfway to look back at her, his entire body still… except his hands.

His hands were shaking again- she should have known better. He was acting and speaking out of withdrawal. And unfortunately her quick explosion of temper had opened the doors for his.

And boy had they opened- or, were just about to. Sherlock's mouth opened as he took a deep breath, his eyes wild with fire, she could see the brain behind his eyes work overtime as he was surely going to bellow out an anger filled lecture- but Madeline was quicker.

"WAIT!" She shouted, getting up on her knees and smacking her hand over his mouth with a 'Pop!' noise against his opened mouth. Sherlock's eyes were wide, and more shocked than she'd ever seen them, completely disbelieving as they stared at her.

"Let's…" Madeline sighed, "Let's stay calm." Madeline's brown eyes searched his own.

Reaching down, Sherlock's eyes widened even further as she ripped off another one of his patches which were lessening day by day. "Cool off," she told him.

As the moments passed and the surprise along with it, he'd seemingly calmed down, his eyes returning back down to normal size, his chest no longer heaving for air. She could feel his lips and breath against her palm, making her slightly dizzy- but she was determined to keep them focused. He stared at her, patiently, unmoving, waiting for her to speak first. "Let's not say anything we don't mean." Madeline shook her head. "…Unless you're going to tell me anything definitive that you actually mean-" She searched his eyes and disappointingly found no response, "Then don't say anything, Sherlock."

Reaching up he grabbed her wrist and pulled it off his mouth, she could not feel an ounce of trembling in his hands- she'd somehow inadvertently managed to distract him from his craving.

"I meant what I said about the tubing." Sherlock mumbled, released her hand and walked to the other side of the bed. Climbing in, Madeline stared at him with wide eyes- this time it was her turn to be shocked. He was going to share the bed with her now?

"Doctor's orders." Sherlock sighed with a roll of his eyes, turning away from her, answering her own silent question if he was willingly getting into bed with her.

Madeline tucked herself into bed, her back turned away from Sherlock as well.

Both were still awake as silence filled the room.

Both of their tempers calm.

"…Take off that nail colour-"

"No."

* * *

That night, when Madeline had a nightmare, she woke up, calmed herself down, and went back to bed- without Sherlock, John, or anyone's help.

* * *

The next morning Madeline woke up to an empty bed, Sherlock already gone and a room that smelt like acetone. Looking down she saw her nail polish had been messily taken off her fingers and toes, dirty bright-green cotton balls thrown away in the bin.

And in a rare moment, Madeline smiled.

* * *

Three more days went by, all of them- John, Madeline and Sherlock- had officially lost their minds. It seemed staying in 221B for a week was beyond difficult, moving into impossible, for each of them.

John, strangely enough- seemed the most frustrated out of them all. He was constantly checking his phone, on edge, and whispering angry words to Sherlock whenever Madeline's back was turned. It seemed he wanted something from Sherlock that he hadn't acted on yet. Madeline didn't know- nor did she want to know, what the hell he was on about. For after each of those awkward moments she'd walked in on, John would act guiltily sweet towards her and Sherlock would continue to treat her as he always did- like a lamp. Or a plate.

Madeline dared to inquire after it once with Sherlock but he simply replied with a short string of mumbles which she couldn't understand before he returned to his microscope, his legs bouncing, and finished off by telling her she'd formed her question grammatically incorrect.

Madeline slowly found herself getting better…. Sort of. Her eating habits had barely increased- but just so. Sherlock's little rant about the tubing had scared her enough into eating one small meal a day- but that's all she could manage to keep down.

The long talks with John at night remained private, as Sherlock took that time to begin a bee gathering collection outside his barred window. _142 so far._ He'd comment with a different number every night before bed without saying a '_goodnight_' or anything. Their routine had not changed. Sherlock kept his distance, as did Madeline.

Madeline's nightmares had remained, however the time it took for her to realize reality was becoming shorter. Her showers were limited to 1 a day and her physical wounds had healed, including the violent name scrawled on her hip that was the only one that remained as a scar- which she and John purposely never mentioned with the hope that Sherlock may forget it (he didn't).

Sherlock was seemingly, and shockingly, getting better. Twitches here and there- but to Madeline and John's eyes, he was recovering. Sure, he took long strange showers where the water didn't run for 20 out of the 40 minutes, but still… after John did a top to bottom search for any drugs in that facility and finding none, they had no choice but to believe it was progress.

* * *

It was the fifth day when John and Sherlock took a case when an overweight man with a missing cat arrived at the door of 221b. Madeline had slept through the arrival of the client but was informed of it by the note that lay on Sherlock's pillow when she woke up, stretching her body, feeling weak at the lingering scent of Sherlock.

Sleeping next to him- in her fantasies, would have been more daring. More hopeful that something might have happened- even an accidental brushing of the leg- but no such luck. He kept his distance, she kept hers. Backs were turned, nights were quick- morning's were even quicker. In a way Madeline was almost thankful nothing had been definitive coming from Sherlock's end- because that meant nothing would have to change for the worst. She'd sworn to herself (and to John) one more move from Sherlock, one more twist of her emotions at his will with no definition behind them- she would leave. Regardless of whether or not she knew how he felt about her- she didn't want to. 221B had become her home.

_Fat man with a missing cat. Out. John's still sticking to me like Velcro or an unwanted tattoo._

_Don't overdo it. And if this doesn't work I'm tying you down and shoving them down your throat._

_Stupid stubborn girl._

_SH_

Madeline looked at the last sentence with confusion in her eyes.

…_Don't overdo it?_

With a shrug and sigh Madeline relented that she would never understand the man. Dressing in her clothes for the day. Another day filled with TV and staring at the safe for hours at a time with no comprehension as to what the combination was. _Event filled._

Reaching the bedroom door she saw her ballet slippers tied together hanging around the knob. Picking them up with confusion she opened the door- her eyes going wide in disbelief.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me."

* * *

**St. Bart's Hospital**

John Watson yawned for perhaps the 12th time that day. "It's never going to work," he mumbled as Sherlock examined the body of their once living client. The missing cat, it seemed, lead to a string of robberies along the west side of London- conveniently.

"Well he's already dead, it's not as if I'm trying to bring him back to life." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"No, I meant the plan. With Madeline. It took us 3 hours to set up and I don't know-" John sighed, crossing his arms and shaking his head, "It seems silly."

"She'll have no choice."

"Right either that or she'll just lock herself in your room all day. She's quite stubborn, I totally believe it's possible."

"Herpes." Sherlock sighed. John looked at him astonished.

"What?"

"Herpes, I think our client had herpes. Confirm it, will you?"

John shrugged leaned forward towards the body, his gloved hand examining the lip, "You seem calmer today…"

"Two less on the patches."

"Good news, then. So what does herpes have to do with this case?"

"It has everything to do with this case." Sherlock smiled, satisfied as he rolled his gloves off with a slap.

"Yep, herpes." John sighed standing up, "Surprised Molly didn't catch it and put it in the report."

"She's been otherwise occupied."

John looked curiously back at Sherlock just as he was about to inquire with what, until Molly herself bounced back into the mortuary, a strangely wide smile on her face for being surrounded by dead bodies.

"Hello!" She shouted loudly, fixing the flower in her hair that flopped messily onto her forehead.

"You forgot herpes." Sherlock mumbled, clearly opposed to her happy demeanor.

"Oh, did I?" Molly smiled with a giggle, releasing a roll of the eyes from Sherlock. "Oops!"

"Yes, well…" John commented hesitantly, and amused smile on his face. "Molly you seem… happy."

"Oh, yes! That reminds me," Molly said excitedly, "Mary and I were wondering if Madeline would like to have lunch with us sometime this week? I'm sure Mary mentioned it to you-"

"Ah! Yes!" John cut her off quickly, his eyes darting between Molly and Sherlock, his smile suddenly turned nervous, "Sure I'll- we'll talk to Madeline about it. I'm sure she'd really love that, change of pace, you know? Yes, then, well then, good? Yeah? Great. Bye bye. Sherlock we off to the next bit in the case?"

Sherlock and Molly watched as John bee lined out of the mortuary like it was on fire.

* * *

Back at 221b, Madeline was having problems of her own.

"This is the stupidest thing ever. This is literally the dumbest thing I've ever seen-" Madeline continued to mumble under her breath, pacing the doorway of Sherlock's room, ballet slippers twisting in her hands. "Naturally Sherlock Holmes is the one to create something this stupid and think it will work- well, news flash buddy- it's not going to work!" Madeline growled as she stopped her pacing- facing the maze of cupcakes and pizza before her.

Nearly every inch of 221B was covered in either one of the foods. Every single inch from right to the edge of Sherlock's door, filling the whole living room- except for tiny little areas of floor that lead to right in front of glasses of milk.

"This is so stupid he must be still on crack." Madeline concluded. "Yep, he's back on drugs. That's the only explanation."

But as the slipper in her hand began to feel smoother… more appealing, the scents and fumes of the sugar and warm cheesy pizza began to drift into Sherlock's room where she stood. Her stomach, for the first time in weeks- groaned and twisted like knives. She felt the hunger consume her… the fumes… the scent of it all…

Looking down at her slippers Madeline groaned- he was tricking her. The only way around all the food was through the little spots of the floor left untouched that she could certainly only tiptoe through. And there was no way possible for Madeline to walk out of that bedroom able to hold and carry all the food along the way- quite simply, it was a disaster. Eat, or dance. Those were her choices. It was a simple plan, a stupid plan, yet a clever plan- and had Sherlock written all over it.

_Guess I'll just have to tiptoe then…_ Madeline concluded. She didn't want him to win this one. Sitting on the bed, thoughtlessly Madeline slipped on the first pointe- she'd almost forgotten how good it felt.

She sighed as she tied the ribbons- she finally felt like she was becoming herself again.

When she finished with one foot she stuck it out in front of her, marveling at the sight of her ankle and foot in a perfect point in the air. Bending her leg she rested her foot on her opposite knee and fingered the rough silky material.

"…Hello old friends." Madeline marveled softly with a smile.

* * *

Sherlock walked out of Bart's Hospital his eyes doing a check on both ends of the street before they landed on John who stood on the edge of the pavement, looking out into the traffic as he knew Sherlock stood next to him.

"I know you know." John said worriedly, still not meeting Sherlock's gaze. "About Mary. I know you know."

"I know you know I know," Sherlock replied with a rare joking tone.

John smirked, "…I know that as well." A moment of silence passed as the cars swerved before them. "So… what do you think, then?"

"Hmm…" Sherlock grumbled, clearing his throat, "She's… adequate."

John's eyebrows perked as he looked at Sherlock incredulously, "Adequate?"

"Fine. Mary…" Sherlock forced out, "She's good. She's… a good match for you."

"Oh wow, Sherlock, that's…" John looked surprised as the consulting detective chose to look everywhere else but back at him, "Almost… _sweet_-"

"One more word and I really _will_ throw myself off of Bart's." His tone was blunt and definitive.

"Yeah, alright, calm down." John chuckled at Sherlock's defensiveness. "Well, for what it's worth- that means a lot to me." John met Sherlock's eye for a moment before he turned away quickly, "…your approval."

Sherlock held out his arm waving down a taxi, "That's because you're an idiot."

They both hid their smiles as they entered the car. The ride back to 221b was a long one, solving a case during rush hour was most inconvenient.

"So…" John cleared his throat, "How are things with you and Madeline?"

"You've stopped calling her Maddie." Sherlock commented casually, no question in his tone as he looked out the window. Of course he'd noticed since John's one-time slip up, but it was clear he chose to mention it then. But John would not be swayed from his line of questioning.

"Obviously." John pushed, "Now, how are things with you and Madeline? You've done well not stringing her around anymore- even sharing the same bed, that's progress."

"Yes, I suppose." Sherlock said bluntly as he turned to look at John with a bitter look on his face, "She snores."

"Only very lightly. Doesn't seem to bother you..." John countered with a light smile. "Good idea then, was it? Sticking the addict in with the traumatized?" Sherlock didn't reply, only rolled his eyes and looked out the window. "…Haven't been cuddling her in your sleep again, have you?" John teased, only to receive laser death glares from Sherlock before he looked away again. John snorted at his look before his face dropped back down to a serious expression.

"Sherlock… please tell me you've made a decision- about whether you're going to tell her or not…" John said softly. Sherlock continued to look out the window, his face softening in expression yet John could tell his mind was filling with strange thoughts. "Tell me you've made a decision…and please tell me it's the right one."

Sherlock didn't answer as the taxi pulled up in front of 221B.

"Thank you." Sherlock mumbled handing the cabbie a note and exiting the car.

"I'll take that as a '_no_' then?" John said as they opened the door.

"I'll leave you to your deductions." Sherlock breathed as they walked up the stairs. Their little experiment having been forgotten in the taxi due to other more pressing conversation, hit them head-on as they reached the living room opening the door to find a disaster zone.

Half eaten slices of pizza and cupcake filled 221b, some areas left entirely spotless, sans food, and others not yet finished. Out of the 50 slices and 50 cupcakes- it seemed that half of them had been successfully consumed by the girl sprawled out in Sherlock's chair- hair in a messy bun, ballet pointes on, greasy t-shirt, dried frosting on her cheek and half lidded eyes with a smile on her face as she looked at both men who stood in the doorway looking at her with curious eyes, her stomach popping out as if she were carrying a child made entirely from food.

Sherlock's plan had work just had he intended. She'd not only been forced to dance, but eat as well (giving her the illusion she'd have to chose one). Clearly having attempted to pointe her way through the mess, she couldn't hold back her animalistic food-driven desires anymore.

"I'm not even sorry." Madeline said shaking her head with a smile on her face, quoting the only quote which seemed appropriate.

"What was it you called my idea, John?" Sherlock said, the side of his lip upturned as he looked back at the astonished doctor, "Stupid?"

"Well, it was stupid but I don't get it…" John snorted, relieved the tubing was no longer a worry. "We've spent weeks trying to get you to eat."

Madeline shrugged with a smile and sighed, settling back further into Sherlock's chair, her legs hanging over the arm rest.

"And how do we feel?" John inquired worriedly, realizing what sort of a number this would do on her stomach.

"Like myself…" Madeline breathed with a smile, pointing her ankles as she let her legs swing lightly back and forth.

"Borderline diabetic, then?" Sherlock commented with a raised eyebrow as he maneuvered himself through the empty spaces of the floor towards his bedroom. "We should have cleaners coming tomorrow, I think-"

"NO!" Madeline shouted suddenly, "Don't throw it away, all you have for breakfast is grapefruit and toast-" Sherlock looked back at her for a moment as she spoke, "I'm tired of living like a savage."

With another roll of his eyes he closed the bedroom door.

"You alright there, love?" John asked worriedly, tiptoeing his way to her around the food, "You seem a bit off."

"I got really excited from all the sugar now I'm not so excited and also the pizza made me sleepy." Madeline replied in one breath, a wince on her face. Her stomach hurt more than a little and John could tell.

"Alright then," John put his hands under her arms and lifted her into a standing position like a child, "Looks like we won't be saving much money on groceries anymore." John placed her arm around his shoulder as he walked them towards the loo, "Sherlock's crazy idea worked as usual. Must say though, bloody tired- it took 2 hours to set that all up. Now, let's get you all cleaned up and some gingerale in your stomach, eh?" Madeline nodded, her eyes closed as she groaned, "And maybe we'll skip our nightly talk tonight. Who knows, maybe now that you feel more like yourself… the nightmares might stop."

* * *

John's hopeful thoughts were wrong.

Madeline gasped loudly as she sat up like a shot, breathing heavily with sweat pouring down her face. The room was dark and silent.

"That was not real, this is real, that was not real, _this is real_…" Madeline mumbled softly to herself as she clutched the cool sheets on top of her.

Looking to her left, she'd hope to see Sherlock staring back at her in his usual manner- as every time she'd woken up during the nights, he'd been awake to watch her bring herself back to reality. Doing exactly as she requested- not meddling. Yet still observing.

But no such luck. He wasn't there.

As Madeline caught her breath she closed her eyes and attempted to calm herself. Not seeing him there when she woke up from a nightmare shouldn't have bothered her as much as it was. She'd intended on fixing herself, depending on _no one_ but herself. But it seemed even in her subconscious, no matter how much she didn't want to rely on anyone else- her emotions still managed to find a way to latch on to that impossible man and his pale electric eyes that were still and would wake up to watch her whenever she came to from her worst nightmares until she went back to sleep. Not touching her, not speaking, not moving- only watching. His face stoic. What he was doing awake- she didn't know.

"Sherlock?" Madeline called out softly, getting out of the bed.

Leaving the bedroom, Madeline saw a stream of light coming from beneath the door of the loo. Without knocking, Madeline opened the door. The sight before her was one she was not expecting at 3 in the morning.

"I won't, _can't_... not improbable not impossible but statistically the chances of this happening are against me yet simultaneously in my favour…" Sherlock rumbled on and on beneath his breath. He sat atop the closed toilet seat in nothing but his boxer briefs and his robe- his hair a mess, his eyes wide and bloodshot red as they stared at the sink, his hands shaking and twitching before him . He hadn't even noticed or known Madeline was there, he was lost in his own world.

Madeline's heart began to beat loudly as she saw on the sink a single white line of powder.

So this is what he was doing for the empty time after his shower.

"I can't, I can't, I_ can't, I can't_…" His deep voice softly repeated as he stood up sharply and with one sweep of his palm, shoved the white powder into the sink washing it down.

…_So this is how John never found any drugs in the restroom_.

"Sherlock?" Madeline hesitated, her voice shook as she watched him, frightened as he shut off the water, looking down into the empty washbowl, mumbling words of deduction and nonsense under his breath.

She hoped- she prayed that this was his bottom because as she looked at the shattered confused and lost man before her- she swore she never wanted to imagine Sherlock could look any worse than he did then.

Madeline wasn't sure she'd seen him at his worst- until that moment.

"Maddie." Sherlock's wide red dilated eyes turned to her.

Madeline was speechless, she had no idea what to do. She saw the white powder still lining his hands. Grabbing the towel behind her she grabbed his shaking palms and began to wipe them off, making sure to not get any of the cocaine on herself.

"How long have you been doing this, Sherlock?" Madeline whispered, her voice shakier than she thought it would be. Her heart was pounding as his large cold hands grabbed onto her small warm ones- both of which fit inside the grasp of his own.

"Only one." Sherlock replied shaking his head like a madman, his voice breaking, "…only_ one_."

Leaning in, in a moment of absolute shock, Sherlock buried his face in Madeline's hair as he clutched her to him tightly.

She did her best not to cry as she wrapped her arms around his chest, but she could no longer hold the tears back as she realized- she was finally getting her first official hug from Sherlock Holmes. Only, this was not how she had wanted it to be. Because it wasn't him.

Madeline buried her face against his chest as his arms squeezed so tightly she feared she couldn't breathe.

"It's _torture_," Sherlock pleaded into her hair desperately, she could feel his whole body tremble from the effects of the cocain.

"Sherlock, _Please-" _Madeline breathed against his chest, her warm tears soaking his shirt, as he squeezed her to him even tighter. His voice was slurred, deep and worst of all- frighteningly weak.

"This is torture, _everyday is torture_… Maddie, _please_..."

* * *

From the living room John stood watching them in his pajamas. Having heard a strange amount of noise coming from downstairs, he'd come in to investigate only to find what he'd hoped he'd never see.

Biting his lip with a shake of his head- this would not do. Sherlock was in deeper than any of them had realized- worse off than any of them had hoped he wouldn't be. His twitches, his ticks, annoyances of little taps and noises- all the little moments of his pain when they attempted to get out. At least, the rest of the supply had been washed down the drain.

Sherlock had been worse off before, and there was one person who had pulled him back.

Taking out his phone with a shaky sigh, John Watson quietly walked back into his room, closing the door behind him and pressed the second number in his speed dial.

"It's three thirty in the morning. Either you and Sherlock have decided to make yourselves official, or this is very bad news." Mycroft's voice even had the ability to sound cold and distant as if he hadn't even been asleep.

"Mycroft, what ever happened to Lucy?" John breathed, his voice shaking from worry.

"…Why?" Mycroft paused. "My brother... has he been dabbling again?"

"Only once, I think. Tonight." John sighed, "He's in this a lot more worse than we thought. I need to know where she is, what happened to her, she brought him back once, it seems she's the only one to do it again."

John was met with a moment of silence before Mycroft spoke up, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"I'm afraid Lucy is off the table."

"Is she dead?"

"No."

"Then what!" John nearly shouted, losing his patience. His best friend was downstairs suffering and his brother was refusing to give the only way to bring him back.

"Because John," Mycroft replied, regret could almost be heard in his voice, "…Lucy is worse off then dead."

Silence sounded between them.

"…oh..." John pleaded with weighted breath, already knowing the answer he lifted his hand and rubbed it across his face, "_no_."

"John," Mycroft replied softly a light sadness in his voice. "Don't tell Sherlock. he may have slipped now but this will only push him further to the bottom …It'll surely be the end of him."

* * *

***cough*This isn't the end of Lucy, btw. *cough* **

**:) **


	10. Two Little Favours

**Finally! It's here! Sorry for the longer than usual wait, life has been hectic and I don't just want to vom out a chapter. Special thanks to The Wordy Lass- my beta!**

**Thanks to:KaiFukugawa, Crimescene, theladyofthelost, guest, Zeroko, ihavenolife, InfectedWalker, pretty much a big deal, Alithe, Amehhh, Empress of Verace, HC, Monique Seiei, Guest, LLPottle, GrilledCheezus, and Gwilwillith.  
**

**For your comments and for your incredible patience! **

**I LOVE U ALL AND I WILL CARESS YOU THROUGH THIS NEXT CHAPTER.**

* * *

**Warning reminder: I don't own Sherlock bbc or anything in regards to that show- but I DO OWN this story and all of my original characters and plots.**

* * *

**24 hours ago.**

**2:24am**

Sherlock lay facing her. His eyes open. _Any minute now_.

Like clockwork Madeline woke up in a sweat, gasping for air, her entire body shaking. And Sherlock would watch her- not interfering (just as he promised), but not just watching- observe. Study her. How was she able to have such… resilience?

(That entirely separate from the fact that she was lightly snoring which made him want to place a pillow over her face at times).

She sat up, eyes wide and bloodshot, he could feel the vibrations of her trembling against the sheets as Madeline mumbled to herself, "This is real, this is real, this is real, this is real…"

Her fingers clawed at the cool fabric with one hand as the other wiped her cheeks. She hadn't noticed him watching yet- but he was certain she was aware as he had been for the past 5 days during every one of theses instances.

With a few deep breaths Madeline calmed down her nerves; heat and cold simultaneously radiating off her skin as her temperature began to drop down to normal. Slowly her eyes made their way, following the light breathing coming from next to her as she was met with curious eyes staring back at her.

Sherlock's cheek was pushed against the pillow, his hair skewed from sleep, his lips puckered out, the crinkles above his nose prominent as he stared at her with bewilderment. They always had these moments. When they happened, she would see him, turn her back and go back to sleep- or at least try to. Then he would follow suit- new deductions about her that made no sense to him still fresh in his mind.

But that night… that night was different.

Madeline, for a reason he didn't yet understand, laid facing him, only a foot of space between their faces. Sherlock saw the glossiness in her eyes that made him uncomfortable, made him want to jump out of the bed and run to the kitchen where his looted body-parts remained waiting to be dissected. But he stayed. Out of sheer curiosity, he stayed.

"You know," She said, her voice weak, her brown eyes searching his own for some sort of answer. "Some people say it's important to talk about things, to get things out whenever you feel them. I do that, I know. I do it sort of savagely, I know that too. And that's only because I don't really know how to express myself," Madeline gave a light smile to the consulting detective who's face, aside from the occasional blinking, remained still. "I have a lot going on, inside, and you're probably the last person in the world I should be talking to about this but you should know that maybe the only difference between myself and my brother- the biological one, is that he kept it all in and I've taught myself to shove it all out."

Madeline searched his face for a reaction, but saw none.

"It's harder than you think, for me. I just got in the habit of it early on. My adoptive parents were very big on being honest and showing people the inside of you- I suppose that's why I make you so uncomfortable… like right now." She feigned a smile and could have sworn the edge of his lips upturned a little- but she couldn't see it anymore. His face remained the same.

"I've turned myself inside out in my life but the problem is…" She bit her lip, her eyes glossing over once more as she looked away, "The thing I haven't been able to share with John during our little sessions is that I think I've gone back inside since what's happened… I want to be able to fix all of this on my own. John talks to me and you watch me but is it so wrong to just want to feel something?" Tears dripped down her cheek, she wiped them smiling, "I miss Michael. I even miss Alex. You know they're adopting a little girl? They rebuilt the café too. Michael and I may not be blood but he was always so giving with his affection, he was my brother, no matter what, you know, Sherlock? Of course you don't- you have Mycroft for a sibling-"

This time Madeline was certain a smirk had lightly graced the side of his face, if even for a moment.

"And you… you're dealing with all of this. These problems with your addiction and you haven't said a word about it… Don't you think that will help, if you just let it all out?" Madeline asked softly. "Don't you ever want to turn yourself inside out, Sherlock?"

A long pause of silence came between them. Sherlock's eyes searched her face, she could see the conflict in them. Sherlock knew what he wanted to say-which was the truth, but he didn't know if he should. It was a rare moment for him, something he'd almost never experienced- a moment in which he knew that whatever he would say would effect the way she felt...and he cared about it.

"No." Sherlock replied simply, bluntly.

Just because he thought those things didn't mean he'd changed. Madeline smiled, shocking him, as he was certain his answer would disappoint her. The fact was that Sherlock Holmes would never change- he was never going to be like her. He was always going to be himself- cold, distant, snarky, clever, and witty. And that brought her some comfort.

"Naturally." She replied with a sad smile. "And I'll be fine, by the way. In case you were wondering. I'm always fine. But you weren't wondering which I can tell now as you're looking at me like I just grew a second head- okay then." Madeline breathed as she turned back over.

Sherlock did look at her like she'd grown a second head… she kept saying she was fine.

Sherlock's mind moved quite quickly. Emotions were more difficult for him to deduce.

_What do I do, then?_ He thought to himself. What was he supposed to do?

Not that she'd told him or implied for him to do anything. No. He was supposed to keep his distance until he decided whether to tell her his hidden, unfortunate love for her or not. Yet beneath all of that he felt he should do something right then. It wasn't logic. It wasn't science it was….

_Madeline._ He thought disdainfully. _Christ_, she was maybe rubbing off on him a little bit._ I swear if I end up shouting my emotions from the top of my lungs and eating through them one day- there will be no more living with her._

She was right, they were all right. She was the opposite of him. Madeline was inside out, he kept it all in. But that nagging in his chest, that aching, that pull to do something while still managing to keep a safe distance- What? _NO._ _...Sentiment._

Madeline stared at the closed door next to her. She knew of course that he was still there, laying behind her. A good 20 minutes had passed. She wasn't alone in that bed, but she certainly felt it. Her life was a catastrophe. She couldn't eat, or sleep, or dance, or be anything she once was. So who was she anymore? Who did she have? John had Mary now, Molly had her boyfriend in secret, Michael had Alex and they both had their adopted child on the way for them in a couple of years. …who did she have? Well, she loved the man beside her, but she was quite certain it was a one-sided sentiment.

Silence passed, the clock ticked. Madeline sighed, she knew he wasn't asleep. He was going to stick to his word- forever the ass-hole gentleman.

"I know you've been keeping distance, thank you," Madeline said; she could hear his breathing hitch when she spoke. "I'm happy to not be treated like a yo-yo." Madeline turned herself around, facing him yet again. "But now I need something from you."

Reaching up to Sherlock's palm that lay open on his pillow, in a shocking move- Madeline intertwined her fingers with his.

"I'm feeling really low… just for tonight?" Her lips quirked, "I promise no one will know. This is shamelessly for me-"

After observing her for a moment Sherlock's fingers curled around to the back of her hand, holding her hand in return.

Madeline's lips upturned in a smile; Sherlock sighed with a roll of his eyes. "Thank you, Sherlock." She teased.

"This is beyond unpleasant."

"…I don't believe you." Madeline continued lightly, giggling as he groaned at her happy demeanor for human contact... never once would he admit she was correct in her disbelief.

_Her hand is small._

"Am I expected to fall asleep in this absurdly uncomfortable position?" Sherlock pushed with sternness.

"I know you don't sleep very much since being back, Sherlock." Her observation silenced him. Both of them. Only for a moment.

"Go to bed." Sherlock demanded, "I think we've had enough conversation for one night. And you have a long morning tomorrow."

Her eyebrows came together in confusion, "Why? What's happening tomorrow?"

"Stop talking and sleep."

"You stop talking first."

"Y-"

Sherlock's mouth opened as he took a deep breath but immediately stopped as he saw the clever glint in her eyes. He closed his mouth as he glared at her growing smile.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." Madeline sighed as she closed her heavy eyes.

"Hmmph." Was Sherlock's reply. He waited as her small hand in his grew weak as time passed until he was certain she was asleep.

She was healing herself all on her own. She was right- he didn't sleep next to her. He waited and watched as she broke herself out of her own nightmares and brought herself back down only to reinsert herself into the dream world bravely. She astonished him because really, she had no idea how weak Sherlock Holmes felt.

The urges were constantly running through his system. Most days his skin felt like it was going to crawl right off of his body. And the less patches he wore- the more his body ached for the drugs. It was a viscious cycle he simply couldn't pull himself away from.

The cocaine he had stashed, every night after Madeline would fall asleep he'd debate whether to take it or wash it away in the sink. So far he hadn't taken the bait. Yet.

Sherlock didn't want to admit it but his reluctance to go back had much to do with his robe. When he would sit on the edge of the tub in the loo, his hands shaking, his body shouting at him to just take it and they would never know- her scent unwillingly filled his nostrils, for it still lingered on his robe.

Bloody wearing it without even asking me! He thought angrily, but never acting on that anger. He didn't mind that she had worn it the week he was away- and Sherlock Holmes resented his own sentiment.

The next morning he had a plan, a plan to get her to eat, to dance. It was foolish enough but he was quite certain it would work. His plan after that was simple- he did have a decision made in regards to Madeline Smith-

He had no intention of telling Madeline Smith of his sentiments.

No. He and John would help patch her up, then certainly she would be sent off on her way while the case was still quiet where hopefully she wouldn't be sought out again.

Sherlock Holmes knew the drugs were inevitable for him. The want was too strong. And the aching in his chest at knowing he would never be good for Madeline almost solidified the fact that drugs weren't a matter of if- but a matter of when. She was picking herself back up all on her own- he could barely even do half as much for himself. Sherlock saw himself as callous, uncaring, and incapable.

And if only this girl and that doctor upstairs knew how close to the edge he really was…

* * *

**40 Hours Later.**

**Evening.**

**221b.**

"You know John…" Mycroft lulled as he sat in Sherlock's chair, his umbrella twirling in one hand as the doctor looked exhausted sitting across from him. "It's imperative we keep any and all information regarding Lucy's secret away from Sherlock."

"Well, I don't even know what Lucy's secret it, so it doesn't really matter, does it?" John replied sassily, giving the lift of an eyebrow.

Taking a moment, Mycroft reached down into his briefcase and pulled out a folder marked_ 'Confidential'_ and threw it onto John's lap. The elder Holmes watched as John's face lost colour as he read the report.

"So you see now, John, why?"

John didn't reply, only nodded his head with the clearing of his throat before quickly handing the folder back. A look on his face as if he almost wished he'd never seen it.

"You didn't finish reading, John-"

"I've read enough-" John quickly caught his raised voice, reminding himself that Sherlock was still knocked out asleep in his bedroom. "I've read enough. Alright. And I agree."

"Good." Mycroft sighed, "Contrary to your belief, my brother- even with our touchy past, is still my responsibility."

"…whatever did happen to you two as boys?" John inquired, "Did you really nick all of his action-mans or steal his eye-patch when he wanted to be a pirate?"

"My brother," Mycroft said softly, lost in his own thoughts and memories, "grew up far quicker than other children, doctor Watson. And not by choice, either. …I'm afraid the pirate dream was far too short lived. It gave way to harsh realities, bitter resentments… and bad choices made."

John listened solemnly; he could have sworn the last statement Mycroft had directed at himself. Suddenly all John could picture in his head was a 6 year old Sherlock all alone throwing away his pirate costume in rage. How had the man behind him, the man who was an addict today, become that way because of that childhood? And while John was certain one day he'd be told what exactly had happened when Sherlock was a kid, when he was a teen, (much like John finally knew what Sherlock had gone through during his year of drug addiction), it was not time to hear those other things. And John knew that he wasn't ready to hear them himself. Not yet.

"Where is she?" Mycroft inquired, "The girl my brother is desperately and wrongfully in love with?"

"Well, that latter part is debatable." John countered, glad for the change of subject. "I actually convinced Madeline go out and have lunch with the other… ladies."

"You mean Miss Molly Hooper and Miss Mary Morstan- your Mary, correct?"

"Well, she's not my Mary." John blushed rubbing the back of his neck with a smile.

"Hm, yes well she and Sherlock seemed to get along, which is rare and shocking, I must say."

"Don't have to tell me that. Mary is clever though, can't put it past her."

"Why don't you go spend some time with her tonight?" Mycroft suggested suddenly, John's eyes widened in confusion. "Madeline has a meeting at the ballet studio after their dinner, as I've been told by my assistant. I'll look after my little brother tonight."

"What?" John replied incredulously, "No. No. No, no, no, not going to happen. Sherlock had his first time falling off the wagon last night- no way in hell am I going to leave him-"

"Why don't we ask him then?" Mycroft inquired, before looking over John's shoulder and speaking quite soundly, "What do you think, Sherlock?"

With a look of surprise John turned around in his chair and saw Sherlock standing there wrapped in nothing but a sheet, the IV that was nestled in the skin of his arm trailing next to him on his stand as he stood with his hair a mess, and eyes red.

"You should go, John." Sherlock's thick voice sounded throughout 221b before his cold eyes landed on Mycroft, "My dearest brother and I have something to discuss. Don't worry though, I'll be sure to fill you in when I get back."

John's heart went straight to his gut as he was certain Sherlock had overheard him agreeing to not tell him about Lucy, "Sherlock-"

"**John**." Sherlock demanded, looking at his closest friend with assured eyes. "_It's alright_."

John nodded, relieved. This wasn't the first time though, the first was with Irene Adler's death- but little had John known at the time that Sherlock had helped fake it. But John was entirely certain that Sherlock knew officially nothing of Lucy's whereabouts, and John prayed Sherlock would never inquire. Mycroft was right about this- it would surely break him.

* * *

**Veeraswamy Restaurant**

**London**

"Oh come on, Madeline!" Mary egged on, "Do tell us, how strange is it to live with the man?"

Madeline bit her lip as she shuffled around the chips on her plate. Since being forced to eat and dance the previous day, both topics were on high for her. But she didn't want to seem like a beast as she ate in front of the two women- she'd made sure to have a pre-dinner meal before arriving.

And while neither of them knew about Sherlock's little slip the previous night, nor about the ache and worry in Madeline's chest regarding it- she just felt happy and relieved to be out having a laugh with a couple of girls.

"Yes, I've always wondered. I mean, I was you know- sort of mad about him but now that things have changed I'm sort of more curious than anything." Molly giggled, then teased, "You know Mary, Madeline here has been living with your boyfriend on and off for the past 3 years."

"Oh hosh-posh," Mary flailed her wrist before taking a sip of her drink, "I don't care about that. I love Madeline since meeting her, and she's been like the sister that John's always wanted. Poor Harry, I know she has issues but she doesn't need to blame and take them all out on him. Madeline-" Mary suddenly demanded, looking at her fed-up, Madeline looked back at her with wide eyes, "Are you going to finish that bloody plate or not?"

"You… don't mind?" Madeline inquired hesitantly.

"I'm going to chuck it if you don't-"

That was all it took for Madeline to stuff the rest of her chips in her mouth.

"It's incredible how you can eat like that and still stay so fit!" Molly inquired, "You know I eat one burger and it's all over for me, it's like boom, my bum inflates 3 sizes."

"Screw you, I love my bum in all its brilliance." Mary declared.

"It's from the ballet, honestly. If I didn't do that for work, I'd be as big as a house now." Madeline shook her head, "I can't ever diet. I was chubby when I was a little girl and it was beginning to effect my health, and no matter what my mom put me on I could never stick to it. So finally she just put me in ballet, I got really obsessed and sort of found my calling, I guess you could say, and that's how its always been. And Molly, sweetie, at least you have an ass. Mine's as flat as a table, it's only good for setting drinks on-"

Molly and Mary snorted with laughter along with Madeline as they sat at their table in their own world amongst the loud crowds. Madeline had never had such fun release in such a long time.

* * *

20 minutes later Mary had insisted on walking Madeline to the ballet studio as Molly had to go on a date with her 'boyfriend' who she was still insistent on keeping hidden.

"So…" Mary began hesitantly, intertwining her arm with Madeline's as they walked down the busy London street. "John told me about what happened last night."

Madeline swallowed, laughing for hours with them both almost had made her forget about it.

Almost.

"Yes, well… it's-"

"How old are you, Madeline?"

"28."

"Right. Well, Sherlock's 34. And do you think it's a coincidence that it's John you've become best friends with?"

"…what do you mean?"

"I mean, you're very mature, Madeline. Not that I can speak all that much, I mean I am 34 as well, but I mean John's nearly 40 and he's your best friend. That should be an indication for you for how… developed you are. And how some things, for Sherlock Holmes, are more difficult." Mary took a deep breath as they continued walking, Madeline listening intently, "I don't know what's happened to that brilliant, cold man. His mind is so far beyond all of ours but he has more demons than I think any one of us are willing to admit- or able to face."

"I know that about him…" Madeline nodded softly, "I just wish I knew more."

"Ohhh," Mary smiled trying to cheer her up, wrapping her arm around Madeline's shoulder and squeezing her tight, "Don't worry sweetie. You've done no crime by falling for such an impossible man. No crime at all. We women are expected to control ourselves at every turn. To be hard as rock but then people forget how human we all are, how our emotions are not our weaknesses and not faults. And you, Madeline, are the most human of us all, I think. You're precisely what that man needs. …you're quite a lot like John, in that respect."

"So, you don't mind John and Sherlock's friendship?"

Mary looked appalled even at the statement, "Are you joking me? Thank God for it. …And Sherlock likes you too, you know."

Madeline shrugged, "Yeah, he can tolerate me I guess, I mean I've managed to live with those two men longer than I care to admit." She snorted.

Mary's eyebrows came together and looked at Madeline, astonished as they stopped in front of the studio where the other dancers danced and twirled behind the glass to music neither of the woman could here. "John was right, you really have no idea, do you?"

Madeline opened her mouth ready to speak before Mary quickly cut her off again.

"Well then, off you go! Twirl, be lithe! You impossibly tiny thing." Mary smiled.

Madeline returned her sentiment and hugged her tightly, "I'm really glad I've gotten to know you, Mary."

* * *

**Dark London Pub.**

**Night**

In the shadows, deep in the corner of the counter where he wouldn't be bothered, the whiskey straights kept coming.

"Goodness, you couldn't have found somewhere better?" Mycroft drolled, wiping the seat with his handkerchief before taking a seat next to his intoxicated younger brother.

"Was hoping this place would be awful enough for you to not step in here." Sherlock mumbled, downing his drink.

"This place seems awful enough that you wouldn't even step in here, younger brother. You don't frequent pubs, how interesting you choose to now- and to down your sorrows out with a substance that even you don't enjoy."

"It helps push back the cravings. Still a step better than the cocain."

"hm, Heroine to cocain to alcohol to... what's next on the totem-poll of worst to best substances?"

"You know listening to you speak this much makes me wish I'd have taken it all the way."

Mycroft watched with a roll of his eyes as Sherlock tipped his head back and took down another. "I suppose this means you've made your choice, hm?"

Sherlock's eyes rolled to look at Mycroft, clearly already over the discussion.

"It's why you did the cocaine, isn't it?" The elder Holmes continued, "That's what they don't know- what John doesn't know. That you've decided to keep your sentiments about the Smith girl underwraps. What, finally come to your senses and realize she's too good for you-?"

"Where is Lucy?" Sherlock bluntly requested, looking at his brother disdainfully as the room around him began to swirl.

"Trying to change the subject now? Fixing her won't fix Madeline. And that's not your concern-"

"I told you we have business to discuss- this is the business."

"She's dead, Sherlock."

A sly bitter smile overcame Sherlock's face as she shook his head at his older brother, "No, even under the heaviest substances I've still managed to figure that using the present tense in regards to 'fixing her' is a stupid slip up on your end. Also, you know I heard you and John- only something worse than death would frighten him these days enough into not telling me. What happened?" He demanded.

"I'm not going to tell you, certainly not when you're like this-"

"You know I'll figure it out without you." Sherlock challenged viciously looking at Mycroft defiantly "I'll just get my network on it. Figure it out myself with my own connections."

Mycroft paused, his face cold and almost as fearing as ice as he looked back at Sherlock with a rare sincerity in his face. "I really wish you wouldn't, Sherlock."

Instead of replying to his brothers rare sentiment, Sherlock downed his last shot and slammed it on the table. "This has been fun brother dearest but I'm afraid another moment of your dull conversation may force me to drink enough to drown in my own body-weight. It's nearlymidnight. John's at Mary's for the night- at least that's one less lecture I'll have to endure…"

Sherlock mumbled as he lost his footing on his way out of the pub, Mycroft reluctantly placing Sherlock's arm around his shoulder as he dragged him out.

* * *

**221B.**

**20 minutes later.**

_The room was white, pale, and shiny just as she'd remembered it. It was all fresh, even the cool metal beneath her exposed flesh was enough to bring her on edge. Any minute now, he'd come._

_"Madeline…"_

But that wasn't his voice.

_"Madeline…"_

As if being sucked into a different reality, Madeline's eyes opened widely to look above her to find a face she wasn't expecting.

"Welcome back." Mycroft smiled coolly.

"Christ haven't I seen enough of you this past week?" Madeline grumbled, still attempting to get her breathing underway. His face was the last thing she wanted to see when she woke up.

"I'm afraid I have a package."

Madeline's eyebrows came together in confusion until she felt a hand wrap around her arm, her wide eyes looked to the side to see Sherlock with his face buried in his pillow as he breathed heavily, clutching her arm.

"Better than the cocaine, don't you think?" Mycroft mused, Madeline looked back at him incredulously as he walked out his umbrella sagging at his side, "Do take care of him for the night, would you?"

* * *

The door to Sherlock's bedroom closed followed by the closing of the door of 221b. Madeline looked down wide-eyed at Sherlock's lightly breathing form, she could smell the whiskey radiating off of him.

"You don't even care for alcohol." Madeline mused as Sherlock lifted his face to stare at her.

"I didn't care for a lot of things but it always seems to get worse and we end up with stupid sentiments, don't we, Maddie?"

Scrunching her face in confusion, Madeline replied, "What? What the hell are you talking about? Boy, you really are very drunk- you smell like you just bathed in a bath of bourbon."

"No not bathed- drank, I drank the burboun." Sherlock mumbled burying his face once more into the sheets, his hand clutching tighter to her arm.

"Why are you drinking?"

"To get me off the cocaine." She barely made out the deeply voiced words as they were spoken against the bed. All she could see was a pile of Sherlock's hair as he spoke and sighed.

"Well… why did you do the cocaine last night?"

"…because."

"Because what, oh great consulting detective?" Madeline mocked. She wanted her answers, she needed to know they weren't losing him.

Sherlock lifted his head, his eyes and lips swollen and his voice deep and thick with a slur.

"Because I made a choice."

"A wrong choice?"

"NO." He demanded, "Au contraire, the right choice. Stupid morality."

"Well…" Madeline concluded softly with a nod of her head, she looked down at her nails, Sherlock's grip on her arm only growing tighter. "I may have to disagree. The right choices are sometimes hard for us, that's true- but they should never push us so far. You doing that line last night is if anything an indication that you made the wrong one…"

Madeline's eyes met Sherlock's, and she was surprised to find them looking back at her.

Then, quite suddenly, it hit Madeline like a shot.

"This… choice you made…" Madeline slowly stated, her eyes going curiously wide, "It doesn't have to do with John and Mary, does it?" Sherlock blinked. "Because she actually wants John and you to be best friends, she wants him to keep working with you- says you bring out the better half in him, and I have to agree. So I hope you approve of their relationship, Sherlock, if that's not the choice you made."

"You know," Sherlock commented no longer worried, "Sometimes I think you might be more daft than myself regarding this subject." Madeline looked at him curiously, "But then I remember…"

But then he remembered that Madeline was (along with John), in fact, the least daft person he knew in regards to emotion and people; and her daftness- whatever it was, in regards to love (how he detested the word) and himself was all his doing.

_"Don't worry Sherlock- You've brought her so close, pushed her so far away, confused her so much, made her so happy and hurt her so extravagantly that I don't think she'd even believe you even if you told her the truth about how you felt. She'd just think you were messing with her again? Trying to hurt her? …Playing some sort of sick game with her emotions?"_

John's words had haunted him. Sherlock looked up at her- this time _she_ was looking at him as if_ he'd_ grown a second head. The alcohol was effecting him quite strongly. Whether it was the drink, or her- or both, Sherlock Holmes was intoxicated. For once, his inhibitions were down, and perhaps his insides… a little out.

"Remember what?" Madeline inquired. "What subject are you talking about?" More moments of silence passed, "We are talking about John and Mary aren't we?"

"Madeline, my inhibitions are low at the moment, and I'm afraid while I'm still somewhat myself I am heavily influenced by the quart of whiskey I downed within the past three hours but regardless I want to say this because I might not be able to again." Sherlock said in all one deep calm breath.

Madeline's heart began to beat rather quickly and hard against her chest as she nodded, "Okay."

"…I _am_ sorry." Sherlock declared sincerely, Madeline lifted an eyebrow. "For everything."

"Uhm…" She said slowly attempting to mask the worry in her voice, "Okay? What, what are you saying? Are you trying to tell me something?"

"…two mornings ago you asked something from me…" Sherlock changed the subject, not wanting to answer her inquiry, not yet. "Something just for you that you wouldn't tell anyone. That you wouldn't misconstrue but was just something you wanted." Madeline nodded and bit her lip.

Sherlock's answer was given in his actions. Lifting his head Sherlock inched his way and laid his cheek against her soft chest looking up at her with half lidded eyes and red lips.

"Please."

Without hesitance Madeline lifted her hands and began to do what she'd wanted to do for so long- she ran her fingers across his cheekbone then through his hair. Sherlock's eyes closed as he sighed, giving in willingly to her touch Madeline could smell the strong scent of whiskey come off him, it wasn't her drink of preference but for some reason- coming off of him, it was intoxicating.

What she didn't know that this was the beginning of Sherlock trying to say '_goodbye_' to her and the possibility of anything. Even with everyone leaving him, Mrs. Hudson getting more involved with her affairs, Molly and her "secret" boyfriend making the rounds and getting serious, John and Mary also getting serious... Sherlock had been able to handle it all with surprising restraint all due to the women who's breathing beneath his cheek brought an unusual amount of comfort to him. But even he knew he couldn't have her. If not today,then tomorrow- she had to leave him too before she got the safe opened and before he could ruin her life by just being himself.

That night Sherlock slept with her fingers tangled in his hair, his cheek against her chest, and his breath light against her neck.

He wouldn't realize until he woke up that he'd subconsciously wrapped his arms around her during their sleep.

Even in attempted goodbyes, the coldest most unseeing person were the ones that couldn't let go.

* * *

**This was a bit of a bittersweet one for you all :) At least we got some steamyness up in here! **

**Next chapter is going to be a touch steamy as well, and from Madeline's perspective. Let's just say these are both chapters necessary to lead in to the chapter after_ that_, which is going to start gettingemotionally dark in which someone who hasn't been- **

_**Spoilers. **_

**(mwahahahaaaaaaa) **


	11. Unheard Advice

**Announcement! I have a new fiction up. It's a request fic I've done. It's a teenlock short story. Called 'The Adventures at Baker Street School' Only 3 chapters. It's all finished and up! (it's not a johnlock fic)**

**Thank you to all of you beautiful people who commented: Linds, youronlydoll, sailormajinmoon, infectedwalker, ShadowStorm013, crimescene, Empress of Verace, GrilledCheezus, KaiFukugawa, Midnight Valentina, HC, and Gwilwillith. I cherish your comments. **

**Just so you all don't get CONFUSED: This chapter starts off with showing what happened from Madeline's perspective when Sherlock was brought to her drunk.**

**Thank you to The Wordy Lass- my trusty beta! **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

"_Please_."

It was a word she'd rarely heard out of Sherlock Holmes' mouth. And if he hadn't been utterly intoxicated- she would have been more surprised by it. Madeline knew better than to trust anyone under the influence. Regardless, lifting her fingers she couldn't help but take selfish pleasure and stroke his cheekbones before running them through his thick, soft, curly hair. A huge sense of power and pride came over her as she watched his eyes close at her touch.

The electricity was there, it was tangible and in the air. Well, at least for Madeline it was. His hair was so soft and so bouncy. Madeline watched his face till his jaw relaxed and his breathing became steady ensuring he'd fallen asleep- surely to wake up with one hell of a hangover. She couldn't help but love the feel of his cheek against her breast. His cheekbones were prodding into her chest at an uncomfortable angle, but she couldn't notice.

_He's so beautiful…_ Madeline thought, knowing that allowing herself these thoughts-these intimacies- were only hurting her further. But he needed comfort, he was struggling with his addiction and when she'd needed him- he was there.

His face was contorted into worry as he slept, clearly his demons haunted him even in his sleep. It was strange to see Sherlock Holmes with his battery out. The man rarely slept, but when he did it served as a strange reminder that he was human.

She could smell him, she could feel his whole body laying atop hers, his chest resting between her legs breathing lightly- their large height difference clearly evident. Everything about the two was so opposite. _We're a disaster waiting to happen_ Madeline once told him. The term '_opposites attract_' had never been more true than in their case. _If he even knows how he feels about me. …or if he feels anything at all._

While her head told her to just try and fall asleep with this 6-foot-something man atop her- Madeline couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. She almost hated herself for how much she loved him. Not knowing when or how it had happened- maybe she'd grown accustomed to him? Maybe it was because he challenged her? …maybe it was because he was the one she was destined to be with?

_Hah! He'd laugh at that one. Or roll his eyes. Or both._

But she found she liked that about him. His candor.

"Uggmmm…." Sherlock groaned as he nuzzled his nose against her, rearranging his legs in his sleep so that her left leg was now trapped between both of his own. Then suddenly without any warning, his arms slithered under her back and wrapped themselves around her rib-cage, pushing her chest and body tightly against him.

"_Oof_-" Madeline breathed through her mouth, trying to keep quiet. His breath was now against her neck as his head was tilted up towards her; the crinkles no longer above the bridge of his nose but rather on his forehead- giving him an almost frightful childlike look as he slept- a rare look she would only see on Sherlock's face if he upset John.

_Don't do it…. don't do it…_ Madeline chided herself as his jaw slacked, his puffy red lips forming into an '_o_' shape. But it was too late. The tips of her fingers ran across them… Madeline felt shivers run up her spine. It seemed almost unreal she'd kissed those lips once- and even more unreal that they'd actually kissed hers back. Once upon a time a long time ago.

"Never thought I'd see the day."

Madeline jumped- her heart nearly stopping as she gasped to see who the voice belonged to. At the now open window, there stood Irene Adler dressed in all black, her hair and makeup done to perfection- and a solemn look on her face. Quickly Madeline moved her hand from the consulting detective's unknowing lips and placed them subconsciously on his broad rising-and-falling shoulders that engulfed her.

"How did you get in?" Madeline questioned, attempting to quiet her nerves, peeking down to make sure Sherlock was still in his deep drunken sleep.

Irene smirked, "Please. Semantics." The woman took a seat on the bed facing Madeline; her eyes running over the passed out body of Sherlock Holmes.

It was then as a moment of silence passed, and Madeline's nerves had calmed down that she remembered what Irene Adler had done. "I do not want to speak with you." Madeline said coldly at the woman. Much to her surprise- Irene nodded when she looked back at her.

"Oh, I know." The woman paused for a moment before speaking sincerely, "I _am_ sorry, Madeline-"

"Yes, I've been getting a lot of apologies today." She rolled her eyes in return.

"I had no choice." Irene's voice shook as she hissed to herself. "We all have to play the game, Madeline. …I may have helped get you in Moran's clutches but I helped bring you back out." Madeline looked back at Irene with wide eyes, not sure if she wanted to believe her. But the woman's face was sincere. "…I'm the one that lead Sherlock's homeless network to your location. I found out where you were being kept… not that hard to do when I know one of those two dunces that were posing as Lestrade's 'guards' that actually worked for Moran. Well-" She smirked with a look of amusement on her face, "I know what he likes, anyways."

"So why are you here?" Madeline asked defensively, "What? Do you want me to tell Sherlock you helped find me so you'll get back in his good graces?"

"Oh goodness-" Irene laughed lightly, "He already knows I was the one pulling the strings from the background. It's why I've been left alone since it happened. Mycroft's men left me alone, finally. He and I… always seem to repaying our debts to one another."

Irene reached over and ran a perfectly polished-red finger across his cheek; Madeline could feel bubbles boiling in her stomach as she watched the woman look at him admirably. And what was worse was that Madeline knew Sherlock looked at the woman with the same appreciation. Even if it was purely intellectual- she knew she'd never live up to the myth that was The Woman.

"I saved him from Moriarty at the pool, then I won. Then he won and then saved me from Karachi. Then I won- I got you kidnapped. …and he lost you in the process." Irene's bright eyes met Madeline's brown ones, "I never meant for that last part to happen. So even when I'd won the world promised to me by Sebastian, I saved him by saving you."

"…For the case, you mean." Madeline tacked on.

"Oh, you darling." Irene smiled with a shake of her head, side-stepping her question. "Then after I saved you- he got Mycroft's men off of me and put Moran away. And here we are again- even playing field. All debts repaid between he and I."

"So then that begs me to ask you the question again-" Madeline said, "What are you doing here? What do you want? If you're not repaying anything, if he's not repaying anything- what are you doing here?"

"…I'm here for you, love." Irene replied simply. Madeline's eyes grew in shock and confusion.

"What?"

"…Do you know why people submit, Madeline? Contrary to Sherlock's opinionated fear of such an action- it's not because they're pathetic or because they're weak… it's because they're stronger than us all. They're usually the ones that spend all day fighting, showing everyone how strong they can be. You, my dear, have spent your whole life like that, haven't you? And that week with Moran and trying to move on from it… I can't imagine. I know you won't forgive that I had no choice, and no- I'm not like you, I'm selfish beyond belief. …But I owe you a debt. I put you in Moran's hands. And if there's one thing that will help clear my conscious it's me giving you this advice-"

"It better be some good fucking advice," Madeline said without hesitation, "Because you might be the last person in the world I trust right now."

Irene smiled, "It's okay to let go. Submit, Madeline. We all have to submit to ourselves first. Then in love we always submit to someone else. ...I may not know much about love- Sherlock and I never had _love _if you call it that, but when we do find that one person we all must give them a part of ourselves. Show them our weakness, our weakest- and _trust them_ with it. "

"That doesn't seem right to me." Madeline shook her head.

Irene quirked an eyebrow, "Doesn't it? Who's clutched to whom right now, Madeline?"

Madeline looked down at Sherlock, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Irene somehow, as usual, managed to outsmart them all.

"And he doesn't even know it." Irene added. "Sherlock Holmes is still human. As am I. As are we all. But it's hard for us women to get away with it- isn't it?" Madeline looked back at Irene, "Take it from a dominatrix, dear, I've had to keep my claws up all my life. And when my heart couldn't help but peek through in one moment of weakness, this ridiculous man right here on top of you threw it right back in my face."

"So… technically then- shouldn't you be here to throw it back in his face?" Madeline inquired hesitantly.

"Perhaps. Love is a weakness in us all. Contrary to society's belief that women should have to hide their love in order to appear strong; when that same request is a contradiction- asking us- telling us to be robotic. Mechanical. Not human. The only problem with Sherlock Holmes and society, and myself is that I know we are all human. Men and women alike. We all love. …We're all weak."

"Yes, and that didn't help you, and that didn't help him." Madeline shook her head, "So maybe the answer is to be not human." Madeline said softly, looking down at Sherlock's still sleeping face. "…he was right."

"True, that is right. When you're not human you can get away with it all. But it's impossible. And as much as we'd like to believe it in our little game- we're all mortal souls. …You know-" Irene's voice perked up, "I don't even have sex with my clients?"

Madeline looked at Irene incredulously, "You're joking, right?"

Irene smiled with a shake of her head, "Nope. Common misconception. I'm a dominatrix. Not a prostitute."

"So then people pay you to… demean them?"

"Sort of, yes. But I argue that it strengthens them on their way out the door. They come to me so they can be their weakest behind closed doors. Because they are the ones fighting all day with their claws up, aren't they? It's okay to let go. It's okay to be weak, Madeline. Just so long as the person holding you up and seeing you at your worst is the one who's going to_ protect_ you in case during those moments anyone comes along and tries to attack you at your weakest. That's _real _trust. That's real love."

Madeline's eyebrows came together in confusion, "…but… don't you take advantage of your clients at their weakest?" She asked incredulously, "Isn't that how you get all of your information and power?"

Irene smiled and nearly blushed proudly, "And that's why you're right to not trust me. I don't _love _my clients by any means. ...But if you were to tell Sherlock…"

"Hah!" Madeline snorted, with laughter, "Yeah right. Look at him-" She motioned towards his still unconscious body atop her own, "Look at me. The PTSD girl and the addict- what a pair! I have no intention to submit to anyone- I can handle my problems all on my own! And Sherlock has no intention to submit to anyone either. And neither of us is capable of submitting to _each other_!" She exclaimed incredulously, "Sorry, Miss Adler, but you're wrong."

"Oh darling…" Irene replied with a soft voice, a wicked smile on her face and a glint in her eye.

Surprising Madeline beyond belief, Irene grabbed the back of her head and leaned forward catching Madeline's bottom lip between her own. "_Mmmmm…._" Irene groaned deepening the kiss for only a moment before pulling away.

Madeline's lips had red smeared on them as she looked back at the woman, eyes wide, face speechless and astonished.

"Don't you see? Stubborn mules..." Irene continued with a knowing smile. "You both already have."

Madeline watched dumbfounded as Irene rose from the bed and walked with a spring in her step over to the window. "I still want those documents, since no one's been around for the consulting criminal business- I've been keeping everyone away from you, by the way, the least I could do. Keep looking for them though, you're out of danger for now but it's only a matter of time before someone finds out your details and demands them."

Irene made her way down the other side of the window. Before closing it from the outside she poked her head into the room once more, looking directly at Madeline- fire and heat in her eyes. "If you ever _do_ decide you want to experiment a bit- you know how to reach me. ...I can see why the Sherlock Holmes would fall for you- even if only for those lips."

With a wink, a teasing smirk, and a push, the Woman disappeared into the night.

Madeline hoped while staring silently out of the window for the next ten minutes, that she may wake up from the strange dream in which Irene Adler came in, actually apologized, gave good advice, then (rather expertly) made out with her for less than 30 seconds.

Laying her head back against the pillows, Madeline stared at the ceiling with the same shock that only The Woman could bring, until she unknowingly found herself asleep with the man who had slept through the whole ordeal, still on top of her. Since Irene left her with a mark, Madeline felt him atop her with a much heavier weight.

* * *

_That night Sherlock slept with her fingers tangled in his hair, his cheek against her chest, and his breath light against her neck._

_He wouldn't realize until he woke up that he'd subconsciously wrapped his arms around her during their sleep._

_Even in attempted goodbyes, the coldest, most unseeing person were the ones that couldn't let go._

**The Next Morning.**

Sherlock stared up at Madeline's sleeping face. One thing burst through his mind-

_The Woman._

_…was here._

He could have attested it to the lingering scent of her Chanel perfume against the sheets or the undone latch on the window- but the consulting detective did not have to see very far in order to observe- The messily smudged red lipstick across Madeline's lips was clear enough for him.

He would inquire about it- and so much more, shoving Madeline awake insisting why it was that the Woman's lipstick was spread across her mouth and most importantly if she enjoyed it. Sherlock mentally growled, always impatient. Hating that the Woman was almost always a step ahead of him.

_What has the woman done now?_

His body was weak, tired, exhausted. Sherlock Holmes knew for certain now that he was a mess. Knowing he needed to untangle himself from Madeline- not just literally but in every way, knowing it was the right thing; he also realized that he subconsciously wanted to do nothing less than the right thing.

_Of course not. I love the bloody girl._ Sherlock winced as he thought, hating the word he had now succumbed to, but would never admit.

Lifting himself up on his elbows, Sherlock felt a headache consume him. He held back his groan as Madeline stirred beneath him opening her eyes to find Sherlock staring directly at her from up above her face.

"I had no nightmares." Madeline commented stretching her arms and legs, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Yes, it seems Irene wore you out?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

As if she'd just been hit with cold water, Madeline's fingers immediately came up to her lips- realizing that her visit last night wasn't just a dream.

"It, umm…" Madeline tried to explain, "I… she-"

"I've never had the pleasure." Sherlock commented stoically, "Though telling by your blush, she is rather good?"

"She went in for it- not me." Madeline made clear, with a snort. "And it's not like anything's chang-"

"I don't need to hear about your personal life." Sherlock snapped rather suddenly, it was then Madeline realized that what she took lightly with Irene- Sherlock took rather seriously and perhaps- personally. His eyes were electric and cold, stern yet frightening as they looked down at her.

Madeline swallowed and looked up at him. Boy, had she never been more certain as she looked up at the angry consulting detective that Irene Adler's words from the previous night had been wrong.

"…Is that what you want?" Madeline asked softly. Once more- attempting to lead him down the path of a direct answer. "Still just a client to you? ...an experiment?"

Sherlock looked down at her, a thousand thoughts running through that mind of his. For the first time ever, Madeline was glad she didn't know what was running through his head. She was afraid her heart might break at it, as the expression on his fact was not a positive one. Regardless, she didn't know what was going to come out of his mouth. Whatever it was- she could see in his eyes, he didn't want to say it. And that for Sherlock Holmes- was something Madeline had never seen in him.

Just as he opened his mouth-

_Bzzz. Bzzzz._

His phone vibrated interrupting them both.

With an annoyed sigh, Sherlock picked up his phone and sat up, reading the message he'd been sent. A rare look of horror overcoming his face.

"What is it?" Madeline asked urgently, sitting up. All thoughts of romance or lack there of lost to the frightful expression of astonishment on the consulting detectives face.

"It's the homeless network…" Sherlock looked back at Madeline with wide eyes both with relief and conflict, "They found Lucy."

* * *

_***Gasp!* **_**I love Lucy. What can I say? She's baaccck. **


	12. The Greater Good

**Thank you to my beta The Wordy Lass! She's been doing so much amazing work for me and she deserves all the praise. **

**And thank you to those of you who had commented (some literally HOURS after I'd put up the last chapter.) You guys are rockstars: **Gwilwillith, WarriorDragonElf54, GrilledCheezus, KaiFukugawa , Empress of Verace, Guest, sailormajinmoon, Amehhh, and ShadowStorm013.

**I dedicate this chapter to you xoxo**

**Also- there is an important author's note at the END of the chapter. Please everyone read it.**

* * *

Madeline exited the shower, her t-shirt and jeans lightly sticking to her body. Her body, which had once been skin and bones, was now back to her normal size. A combination of going back to ballet and eating like a starved child had brought balance back to her normal physicality. That matched with her nightmare-less night meant that a little over a month after her kidnapping- she was finally headed towards a normal life again. Or, as normal a life as one could have living in 221b. But that only made two people in 221b's life going back to normalcy. Sherlock Holmes was becoming a different story all together.

Drying her hair with a towel Madeline began to think about where Sherlock was. He'd told her where he was headed to find Lucy. She wasn't in London anymore- but rather in Cardiff. Leaving her with no specific instructions- within 10 minutes Sherlock had been showered, changed into a fresh suit, and out the door. Looking at her reflection in the foggy shower mirror, Madeline reflected back to an hour ago when he'd paused at the living room door and turned back to face her.

_"I'd take you with me…"_ He'd said. It was clear there was more than one reason as to why he didn't. But he was asking. And Madeline, with a shake of her head, and for more than one reason- declined. When the front door of 221B closed, Madeline could still smell Sherlock Holmes engulf her as his scent lingered on her pajamas.

Picking up her pile of pajamas from atop the toilet, Madeline lifted them to her nostrils and took a breath. This was a part of him she knew nothing about. Lucy was a very small detail to Madeline. She could tell he'd hidden his past well from her- and yet he was offering to open it up. Madeline didn't know whether it was because she subconsciously didn't want to know- or it was because she was afraid to see Sherlock Holmes possibly at his worst again, but she knew this was something he had to do on his own. And while it almost broke her heart to watch him run after another girl…

Exiting the loo, Madeline was not surprised to find John Watson sitting across from Mycroft in the living room.

"Miss Smith." Mycroft lulled with a nod of his head.

John smiled, having been out the previous evening spending the night at Mary's- he seemed happier than usual, "Hey, Madeline."

"Hi, John," Madeline smiled pulling up a chair from the living room table, ignoring Mycroft. "How was last night?"

John blushed and shook his head, "Cheeky." He teased Madeline as she giggled.

"Can we get back to business, please?" Mycroft sighed impatiently.

"Look, Mycroft," John cut in; clearly they had been in conversation while Madeline had been in the shower. "He's found her, you say? Alright then. Listen, there's nothing we can do to stop him. Maybe you're right- but maybe also seeing Lucy one last time is what Sherlock needs to fix himself up again."

"Or it'll end him." Mycroft countered.

"Maybe," John said with a shake of his head, "But either way it doesn't matter by this point. When that stubborn stupid man has something on his mind- he's going to get it done. Plain and simple. Whether it's today, tomorrow, or after Lucy's dead in God knows when- he's going to find out what happened to her anyway and whatever the outcome is- we will deal with it. I'm not going to give up on him. Nothing can stop him to getting to Lucy."

Mycroft paused and took a deep breath, "Not exactly, John." His eyes moved slowly as they landed on Madeline. John looked between the two of them with a confused expression; one that matched Madeline's as she watched the elder Holmes eye her with a sort of bitter coldness.

"What?" She exclaimed impatiently, knowing she should have eaten more than just a bowl of cereal for breakfast as her nerves were on edge.

"Wait a minute…" John said slowly, "You think Madeline can talk Sherlock out of never seeking Lucy… ever again?"

"What?" Madeline repeated, looking incredulously between both men. This was certainly a change of events for her. She was under the impression she had a little more than the no-influence on the man. However, according to Mycroft, she had a lot.

"Precisely." Mycroft replied. He handed Madeline her phone that he'd picked up from the table, and turned to her astonished face. "Call him. Tell him to drop it."

Much to both of the men's surprise, after a few moments of serious silence, Madeline broke out into snort filled laughter. "Wha-_what_!" She smiled widely, "Are you serious? Wow, I think you're a little over confident on my effect over your little brother." Turning to John she spoke, calming her laughter, pointing her thumb at Mycroft, "Can you believe this guy?"

After a long pause, John's eyebrows came together in thought. "Madeline…" He stated looking at her solemnly, "Don't feel pressured to call."

In a flash her face fell. John Watson's perceptions she never questioned. "Are you… are you serious, John? I mean- even if he did listen to me…" She shook her head with question, "Is this the right thing to do?"

"I… I don't know." John shrugged conflicted. "So far everything we've done to try and keep him away from his addiction has backfired. …Maybe seeing Lucy is what he needs to officially come off?"

"Or maybe it will ruin him, and pull him back in." Mycroft's cold voice broke the light hope in the air as he reminded everyone of his position on the subject. He turned to Madeline, watching as she twisted the phone in her hands. "Call him. End this."

"If I do call…" Madeline said softly, pulling up his name on her phone. Except it wasn't his name he was under- she'd almost forgotten she'd put him under '_Beast,' _in her phone.

_My old nickname for him._ She smiled fondly at the memories of their hour long debates and fights when first living with each other 3 years ago. It all seemed like another lifetime ago.

"You _will._" Mycroft pushed.

"Hold on, no, she doesn't _have_ to." John countered.

"I'm afraid she does, John." Mycroft's voice demanded, "I bring Madeline an extreme amount of protection on a daily basis at the request of yourself and my younger brother. If she doesn't call, I won't hesitate to rid that security, lock her up, and force the location of those documents out of her psyche one way or another."

John leaned forward in his chair, staring at Mycroft fearlessly, opening his mouth to give him a piece of his mind, but before he could Madeline spoke. "It's ringing." Looking over at her, she had the phone up to her ear, it only took two rings for Sherlock to answer.

"Yes."

She could tell from his voice that without even looking at his caller i.d he knew it was her calling. As if he'd been expecting it. This was her first time talking to Sherlock Holmes over the phone. He'd always texted. His voice, if possible, sounded even more resonant and deep than ever. She felt a longing in her chest for him. It was as if his voice had engulfed her in comfort and security. Having had him sleep on top of her, and feeling his warmth, his arms around her in a rare time of affection had spoiled Madeline's emotions rotten.

"Hi…"

Silence passed between them, she could hear his breathing on the other end. Strangely enough he didn't demand anything from her. He didn't tell her she was wasting his time as he usually did… his trip to see Lucy was making him strangely more solemn.

"Where are you?" Madeline asked, her voice quivering as she picked at her jeans, avoiding the silent stares from John and Mycroft.

"On a train to Cardiff."

"You're getting reception still?" Madeline questioned incredulously, "Is it breakfast yet? What are they serving?"

She ignored the sigh and roll of the eyes coming from Mycroft, instead trying to imagine Sherlock and what he looked like on that train. His long coat, scarf on, tea sitting before him untouched in his own first class compartment. Scoffing at the servers and avoiding all human contact.

"Biscuits, jam, tea and a hard boiled egg. All equally unappetizing."

"Yeah, I guess for someone who eats like a baby squirrel."

She could practically hear his eyes roll from the other side of the phone at her comment. Silence once again filled the line between them. Madeline could hear the light winds of the train, wishing dearly that they would drown out as they made the silence even more distracting.

"I know why you're calling." Sherlock's voice said suddenly. Much to her surprise, he didn't sound upset. More just informing her of facts. "I know my older brother is there. …and I know what he wants you to ask me to do."

Madeline felt her cheeks burn, as if she'd been caught. "…Would you do it, even?"

Sherlock took a long pause. "…Are you asking me to?"

Madeline's eyes landed on John who was watching her intently. She almost forgot that John and Mycroft couldn't hear their conversation over the phone. John shrugged his shoulders at her, as if to ask what she needed.

It was then Madeline began to ponder the mysterious Lucy. Should she even envy her? Did she? Madeline then realized she didn't. Not her. Not the girl. What she envied was Sherlock's actions to go after her. _But then again he'd gone after me as well… and I didn't even do anything half as incredible as Lucy had. _

Lucy, from the limited information Madeline knew, had turned Sherlock away from drugs. She was his first link to sentiment- or possibly caring about someone. How much- she didn't know. But Madeline, being of more than average intellect and exceeding in compassion and morality knew one thing for certain- Lucy was a great girl. And she deserved her justice. And Sherlock deserved to give it to her.

"All I'm asking you… is that you buy me some gummies from the trolley on the train on your way back. And not the cheap plain ones…" Madeline added sternly, "The sugar covered ones."

"…Alright."

Her message was clear to them both. She had no intention of stopping Sherlock Holmes… even if, for one frightful moment, for a reason she could not understand that no one bothered explaining to her- she could.

Without saying goodbye, she hung up. Throwing her phone on the couch, her stern face met with Mycroft's undoubtedly upset one. Lifting an eyebrow, Madeline spoke to him utterly unimpressed. "Do whatever you want. Lock me up. See if I care or if I even actually believe you. Because guess what?" She popped out of her seat with a mocking smile, "I don't!"

Leaving Mycroft in a unpleasant stupor, and glancing at John's face to see the proud smirk on his face as he tried to hold back laughter, Madeline grabbed her coat and her purse and headed out of 221b- needing time to think over when it was that she'd suddenly had influence over Sherlock Holmes- without regards to a case.

* * *

**Cardiff.**

**Night.**

Sherlock's torch cut through the pitch-black alleyway. He could hear cats rustling against the garbage. This was one of the locations she would have been moved to.

_But why is she even being moved around? _Sherlock questioned; his mind taking in every single detail; deductions popping up all around him but none with an answer.

"Thought you would have figured it out by now."

Sherlock stopped walking with a roll of his eyes, entirely unphased, not even bothering to turn to face his older brother.

"Or is it…" Mycroft continued. The heels of his shoes clicking and echoing in the abandoned alley until he faced Sherlock, their faces lit by the above streetlamp. "You already know the answer… you just don't want to face it because for once- it may be even more horrific than you can handle."

"_Please_." Sherlock scoffed, "While I am enjoying this tender moment between us," he mocked, "I don't need advice in what I can handle from a man who's spent his life behind a desk. Don't forget, Mycroft, _I _was the one who lived out on the streets all those years ago-"

"Yes." Mycroft replied simply, "Since then you've seen almost all of it- prostitution, drug rings, murders… the dark side of London? Yes? …but you know there's that one thing in the back of your mind. That one thing in the dark corner you've yet to come across, mainly because of how well it's hidden from the public view, also because you don't want to think about it." He raised an eyebrow with ease, observing Sherlock's stoic face, "_No one_ wants to think about it-"

Sherlock brushed past Mycroft in an instant, continuing down the alley.

"They're very protective over their girls, Sherlock…" Mycroft followed after him in a casual stride, "You know you're opening a whole different door."

Sherlock ignored his brothers words. Knowing at least that the latter statement was entirely over-dramatic. His deductions told him that Lucy was on the verge of death, and therefore was of very little interest to others. As his torch ran across the corner of the alley, across abandoned boxes, a flash of red came to light.

Sherlock felt his mind explode as he saw the little piece of curly red hair that brought him back to his past over a decade ago. He ran towards her nearly in a trance. Lucy's dirty form had been covered up by flattened cardboard boxes and thrown away blankets. In nothing but a thin ripped up dress, Sherlock kneeled next to her unconscious form, feeling her pulse- barely there.

The last time he'd seen her, more than 10 years ago, she had been on her way with the money and the letters he'd given her. Ensured that she'd been given a new life.

The last time he'd seen her- Sherlock Holmes had had hope that she would live the way she'd wished. Instead this is where she was. He felt a strange stir in his gut, one that he rarely felt- regret? _Possibly._ Sadness? _Unfortunately._

...Pain?_ Indefinitely._

"She wanted to leave the life she had." Mycroft said quietly from behind Sherlock, standing over them both as the brother's looked down at her sunken face. "… but it seemed her old life didn't want to leave her. Those men you'd taken her from, they had connections. And rather than just convincing her and pimping her out as they had before- they took it a step further. They kidnapped her from the safe house I'd placed her in, drugged her…" And finally he added on the worst of the offenses, "Then _trafficked_ her." He said the one word, the one statement that made Lucy's life the most horrific it could have ever been. "She's been throughout all of Europe." Mycroft paused. Watching the back of Sherlock's head gave him no indication of what his brother was feeling, but watching his fingers pull away strands of hair from Lucy's face was enough for him to know. "…I _tried _to get her back. I searched everywhere. But you know how these traffickers work, they're above all of our heads, working in areas that even_ I_ can't get access to. They move the girls from place to place. Finally, after all those years they left her here- in Cardiff.

When I'd found out where she was I'd hoped she was dead, or that she had been killed a long time ago. One can only imagine death being a pleasant alternative to what she was subjected to… she's dying, though, Sherlock. Numerous infected needles in her blood stream, none of them induced properly, too many blood clots to count… amongst other things."

Sherlock listened to his brother as he took an inventory of Lucy's status. The more he deduced, the more he saw the details of these past 10 years. For once, Sherlock Holmes didn't want to know a thing about it. About anything. He wished,_ for once_, that he couldn't see what he saw in every detail of her person… but he did.

Swallowing and keeping his hands on his lap, his wide eyes snapped down to see her fingers twitch.

"Help her…" He demanded, his voice shaking and jaw clenching. Rage pulsating through his veins. As each moment passed, his urge to rip away the lives of whomever had done this grew. But even more frustrating for him was Sherlock knowing he could never get his hands on them. They would be halfway around the world by this point, taking more girls. It was the same feeling he'd had when Mrs. Hudson had been tied and hit upstairs, when he'd thought John had been killed on the doorsteps of St. Barts, when Madeline was in Moran's grasp- one of vengeance. A dangerous vengeance, as that was the only type that could take hold of Sherlock Holmes. But unlike those other instances- this time, Sherlock would not have his vengeance. He couldn't. And perhaps for him, not having the last word, is what made him livid and desperate for something to do. To deduce. To hit. ...He feared he would truly go mad.

"She's beyond anyone's help. She's on death's door, Sherlock. She has AIDS."

"I know that!" Sherlock spat, "What? You think I don't know that?!"

Mycroft allowed his brother to fume before continuing, "…Her days are numbered. I've kept her alive and out of harm's way the best I could-"

"_This_ is out of harm's way?"

"She's still _alive_, Sherlock. She was too far gone from the start of when I found her a month ago. 10 years ago when I met her on my doorstep, she wanted to be a doctor, she had plans for university… a home life… she wanted to make friends… Lucy Meyers. A bystander to the sick man's game." In a rare moment, Mycroft's voice became solemn as he was lost in his own thoughts, speaking them softly with melancholy reflection. "…Tell me, Sherlock, what is it about this world that seems so keen on destroying the only sex that makes this society something other than a totally hopeless place?"

Sherlock had no answer. Mycroft wasn't even sure if he was listening.

Footsteps could be heard in the distance, slowly echoing down the alley. Mycroft's eyes worriedly moved back to look at the back his brother's head. "Sherlock, I think we should leave." The elder Holmes felt uneasy. His usual protection was a quarter kilometer down the way and out of the alley. He was not used to being in physically dangerous positions.

"No." Sherlock said firmly standing up, his eyes remained on Lucy before they lifted to see the 2 men walking towards them. Burly, large types, clearly 'regulars' from the area. In less than a moment, whether it was because of the intense loathing Sherlock felt build in his chest or the mind numbing coldness that he felt not just from the weather but from his well-placed rage- Sherlock had deduced these men's lives as if he were trying to impress God at his own game. "Can I help you?"

"Just what do you two posh boys think you're doing?"

"_Posh_, is it?" Sherlock mocked, taking a step towards them.

To the two men, one short, one tall, these two pale London-men looked more out of place than anyone they'd come across.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft reminded quietly, with much hesitance, that he could not help his brother if he were to get into an altercation. Only the younger Holmes brother was accommodated to physical altercations as well as intellectual ones.

"Yes, well," Sherlock replied coolly. Sliding off his trench coat, Sherlock slowly placed it over Lucy's body. "Me and my assistant here-" Taking off his scarf handed it to Mycroft who was rolling his eyes at Sherlock's obviously demeaning title to him. "Are on the lookout for traffickers."

Both men's face's went intimidating to confused.

"You mean like... drivers?"

Both Holmes boys unconsciously made identical incredulous facial expressions that included an eyeroll, a scoff and an '_are you kidding me right now?' _between the eyebrows.

"No, I mean like serial international rapists and pimps." Sherlock replied. "You both have the profile as such. As I can tell you're both long-time friends. Share everything... even women." Both men chuckled, not impressed by this posh London man's observations. "...even _wives_."

Both of their faces fell from laughter. In a moment they looked at each other with utter disbelief and rage.

The short stubby one was the first one like a shot down the alley, with the tall one pursuing him. Both men ran down the alley way. One nearly losing his pants as he clung onto them, both disappearing into darkness.

With a scoff and a roll in his eyes, Sherlock's act went away in a mere second as he went back to now re-buttoning his cufflinks as if nothing had happened. His eyes went downwards towards Lucy as he rolled down his sleeves.

"Both men were cowards. As most rapists are. I'll have Lestrade come for them and arrest them. We'll see how they deal with 10-20 years each; they will be having plenty of sex there but not with the gender they're accustomed to- and _quite _ironically their own methods for sex will be used against them."

"Clever." Mycroft stated, handing the scarf back to Sherlock who took it from him in a quick snap.

"...They're not the ones who left her here, you know that." Sherlock's voice went down to a much more delicate tone, "Just locals from the pub down the street who found someone to play with who wouldn't bite back… If only they _knew_ her. She would have had them in the fetal position in tears within minutes."

"Yes, she was quite the strong, clever one, as I recall." Mycroft mused with less than affectionate memories, "Insulted me within the first 10 seconds of meeting me."

Sherlock smirked fondly, an underlying pride filling his face.

Instead of putting on his scarf, Sherlock bent down and lifted Lucy's head and wrapped it around her neck, "You say her days are numbered…" Placing his other arm beneath her legs, Sherlock lifted her, his trench coat still covering her body. "She's coming to 221b."

"It will not do well for you in your condition to witness something like this." Mycroft warned, "The drugs are still in your system- and the alcohol didn't do you any good. The cravings will only get worse with a heightened _state-_"

"Either you drive us back to the train station, or I walk us back." Sherlock replied carelessly, "Though I would like to point out it is rather cold and I'd rather not get ill from your foolish sentiments."

With an expected sigh and a shake of his head, Mycroft replied simply, "As you wish."

* * *

On the train ride back to London the next morning, Lucy was still unconscious, but was cleaned up. Anthea had taken her time to clothe her, bathe her. In the compartment Lucy was perched against Sherlock who sat by the window, on the other side was Mycroft and Anthea- who as usual, was busy on her phone, texting away, and happily ignoring both men.

"So…" Mycroft said after 20 minutes of silence. "And how are we doing, Sherlock? Are you ready to have someone die in your arms?"

"This is a long train ride, longer than I wish to be in your presence so for the time being silence would be preferred over your scathingly annoying voice." Sherlock commented casually, still watching outside the window.

Lucy's face began to slip down from Sherlock's shoulder as she groaned still unconscious as the drugs were running out of her system. Quickly grabbing onto her chin, Sherlock tucked her back in before continuing his stare out the window, casually ignoring Mycroft's clear observations of him. Such acts were unusually for the man. Whatever had brought Lucy and Sherlock together _was _friendship. Though at the time he didn't know it- Sherlock Holmes certainly knew it now that he was capable of such relationships thankful to John Watson. Mycroft knew this was all weakening his brother in the eyes of every enemy that would be after him and already was with his dealings in regard to the Smith girl, but their was nothing that could be done. Even Mycroft was well aware and unfortunately reminded that even the Holmes were humans in the most minimal regard.

"You're not alright." The elder Holmes commented. "Your demeanor is cool but you have no idea yet how any of this will affect you. …And Madeline?

"It would be best for you to leave her out of this." Sherlock's voice was low and quick. "You've ruined enough lives."

Mycroft bit back his words as his eyes landed on the pale redhead. As cold as he was, the guilt of her status couldn't have sunk in deeper. He'd tried, really tried to get her back all of those years ago. And it was one of the few moments in his career where Mycroft Holmes had known he had failed, and felt powerless about it.

"Aren't you afraid of how she'll react?" Mycroft questioned, "Jealousy? Maybe?"

Sherlock's eyes squinted in interest as they finally landed on Mycroft, the tilt of his head indicating a challenge from Mycroft's accusation. "Why would that happen? She and I are not together in the sense other than detective and client, flat mates. …We're not _a couple_." He said the word with distain.

"Not officially- no. But everyone _except_ that poor girl knows how you feel about her… and everyone including that poor girl knows how she feels about you."

Pausing only to take a deep breath, Sherlock continued without hesitation, "Don't presume Madeline is a two-dimensional stereotype. She is not the jealous type."

"You seem to have analyzed her quite well on a personal level…" Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, "Sounds like _a couple_ to me." Sherlock only rolled his eyes in response. "However, do you ever stop to think of how this will let her all down? The combination of Lucy, you telling her you have no intention of being with her, telling her you don't have sentiments towards her…" Sherlock continued to look out the window, the sun slowly rising. Mycroft continued knowing that his younger brother was hanging off of every word against his cool demeanor, "We're worried all of this time about Lucy's demise breaking you, maybe we should be worried about what you're going to tell Madeline breaking her?"

"As I've said before… you don't know her." Sherlock's eyes moved to look at his brother, only for a moment as he spoke. "I know it's difficult for your insulin induced mind to comprehend but- she'll be fine without me."

"Do you mean _fine_ or _better off_?" Mycroft pushed; "I saw this happen when John was out of your life for half a year after the fall… you hesitated to bring yourself out again for his sake. Tell me, with Madeline, is it for her sake or for yours?"

"Does it matter?" Sherlock snapped back, his tone officially sick and tired of his brother's meddling.

"I suppose not… Lucy is leaving us all within these next few days, that is certain. But Madeline is a complication that must be remedied. You know this. Allow her to figure out that safe combination, lead us to the documents, then we let her go back to where she came from. In the meantime you are doing well to distance yourself to eventually cut her off permanently for the greater good." Sherlock didn't reply, his face remained stoic as Mycroft spoke the last words on their train ride back, "Caring, Sherlock, is _not _an advantage."

* * *

**Authors note:**

**Hi everyone. I almost hate putting this at the end of a chapter but I should explain a bit: I wrote this chapter along with the last two of part four (only two more to go) this past week. And it's a good thing too in a way because this evening there was a passing in my family, my grandmother has moved on.**

**And I'm afraid all of these chapters with death and darkness I can't read through them again to polish/fix them up and make them even better as I usually do even after my beta sends them back to me.**

**So I don't know when they'll be posted, since they're coming straight from my beta to you, you might even be getting them sooner than usual. But also, please excuse (this chapter included) if they seem less well-written. I just can't read through them again with these themes right now. I can't, I'm sorry. Hopefully after this part is all up, enough time will have passed that I can start off part 5 fresh and without my own personal conflicts holding me back.**

**Thank you all so much, you really are the best readers/followers I could have ever asked for. You make me so excited to write and see your reactions, they brighten up my days and even now in this hard time I still feel like putting up these chapters give me a little something to look forward to.**

**~Emma.**


	13. The Kismet of Lucy Meyers

**I just have to say, thank you to all of those that commented not just your incredible and amazing words about this series but also your condolences for my grandmother. You have no idea how wonderful it has been to see such an amazing response from all of you. And you'll have to pardon my lack of list for this post as well as the reminder that I have not read this chapter since I wrote it- so if you notice a lack in quality- apologies. I think it becomes quite clear why the last chapter, as well as this one, and then the next one, have been impossible for me to re-read/edit myself. **

**Its been a difficult couple of weeks and I appreciate all of your patience, as well as the help of The Wordy Lass who through her busy schedule still managed to find time to edit this somewhat lengthy chapter these past couple of days. **

* * *

Madeline watched the scene before her with wide eyes. She never thought she'd actually live to see the day of a woman in the bed of Sherlock Holmes. Well… other than herself. (But to be fair she did live in 221b, for the time being, and John having Mary over for nights in his bed made it much less savory to stay in. Yes of course that's the only reason I sleep in his bed… She reassured herself.) And if Madeline ever had thought she'd actually see another woman in Sherlock's bed- she feared it would have been met with more… jealousy. But it seemed Madeline was far from the jealous type. Either that, or the pale, sickeningly thin woman with red fiery curls who was barely breathing, tucked into Sherlock's bed with the man himself standing by pacing and watching as John checked her pulse, was better than all of that.

"It's not good." John shook his head sighing, placing Lucy's wrist down on the bed. He looked up to Sherlock worriedly, "But you already know that."

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at John as if he were asking How long?

"A day, maybe two if we're lucky." John sighed standing up walking to his friend; "You got her right at the end of it all." He said softly.

"Luck." Sherlock stated harshly.

"Kismet." John corrected incorrigibly, receiving a look of annoyance at his choice of word from Sherlock. "Right then, well…" John cleared his throat as he noticed Madeline sitting on a chair in the corner of the room- he'd entirely forgotten she was there because she'd been so silent.

The one thing about living in 221B for so long and watching John Watson and Sherlock Holmes interact was that Madeline Smith, more than any other third party observer, knew for a fact how much those two men needed each other… Sherlock more than John.

"I better go. I'll be in the living room." She said quickly before either of them (meaning John) could interrupt her and insist she stay.

As soon as Madeline closed the door behind him, John immediately stood closer to Sherlock, his voice low and understanding. "It's okay to say you loved her. It's just us. You love Madeline, you can say if you loved her."

Sherlock's clear eyes rested on Lucy. Since picking her up, it seemed all thoughts of drug use had left him. He was no longer twitching. On the other hand, the consulting detective was frighteningly more solemn. More reserved. This was a big step away from his childish tantrums.

"Not love like that." Sherlock said certainly. John wanted to ask him 'and what sort of love is it you have for Madeline?' but resisted. Now was not the time for him to try and get sentiment out of Sherlock. "No… no quite. But, perhaps, she was the first person I ever cared for." Sherlock shrugged, "Even bothered trying to help. I never knew Lucy well enough and as we both know I'm not quite myself under the influence. …I can barely remember her, John."

"So then what is this?" John asked hesitantly, "What is all this if you can barely remember her?"

"…memories." Sherlock said. "I tried to do something once for her, for the other sorts of memories that I carried-"

"You mean emotional memories." John stated, gathering an eye roll from Sherlock at the use of the word he hated. "Memories attached to emotions. You can't remember exactly what it was or what happened- but you have a feeling regarding it as if you already know without knowing."

"I don't need a vocabulary lesson."

"No, but you need to understand that your regard towards this woman, although it's not love, it's emotion. And in one, maybe two days, if she's lucky, when she passes- you have to be ready for that sort of loss, Sherlock." John warned with a shake of his head. "I don't want to find out where you are next week and have to pick up your body with Lestrade from Molly's slab, do you understand?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Someone's been watching too much daytime drama-"

"No, I'm serious Sherlock. I already know you've decided to not tell Madeline." John stated, garnering a look of surprise and question in Sherlock's eyes. "I'm not stupid. It's the easier choice for you-"

"It's the right choice-"

"No- it's easier- you know what, I'm not going to argue with you about this. Point is- if you're going to ruin your life, that's fine. I'll pick up the pieces right behind you till we get it right back to however you want it. But I refuse for all of these reasons to end you."

"Do you really think the combination of Lucy's obvious death and my not telling Madeline what she doesn't know will affect me? As if I were so deeply sentimental-" Sherlock mocked, but John stood his ground and was having none of it. Today was not a day he was going to play Sherlock's little game of "playing-the-machine".

"I really think that the absence of these two girls mean more to you than you care to realize. And when Lucy's gone, then Madeline won't be too far behind. She won't stick around waiting for someone to not love her back." Silence stood between both men as they stared at each other. John knew his words got to Sherlock by the expression on his face- it was one of knowing and one of reluctant acceptance and (perhaps) slight fear. "…And then what will you do, Sherlock?"

John question hung in the air as he left the room, closing the door behind him, but his question remained filling Sherlock's mind. Drawing blanks.

The room suddenly felt thick with its air. Sherlock could feel the walls closing in around him. John was right. His deductions, the game, as it were- they weren't… Madeline. They were different. Perhaps they didn't fulfill him entirely? …Perhaps his inconvenient sentiment of love was not as useless as he'd been led to believe, perhaps it was… another fulfillment. One that his work could not give him. One that John could not give him.

One that only Madeline could give him.

"Jesus Christ-" Sherlock breathed, popping open the top button of his shirt as he leaned against the window-sill, breathing heavily attempting to catch his breath. This was not what he wanted to be thinking about. What he wanted to be feeling. He hadn't thought this through as he thought it would happen. He hadn't anticipated the possibility of John (as always) being right.

Sherlock thought by bringing Lucy he would simply be repaying his debt to her, but he supposed he did care for her. And that was all and fine. But her passing, represented everything leaving him. It was a thick reminder that Madeline was certainly on the verge of leaving him herself. He saw them- the newspaper ads for flat listings. He knew she looked at them, hiding them behind the living section. And all for what? Because he couldn't, and wouldn't tell her his feelings.

For her own good! Sherlock mentally growled at himself, an actual audible growl being released from his throat as his hands rolled into shaking fists. He could almost hear Madeline's annoyed voice in his head, I don't need for you to decide what's good for me.

And now Sherlock could feel it… he could feel the cravings suddenly surge through his body. The need to forget. The need to numb.

Lucy's body laying in his bed suddenly seemed all too real. She was there. His past had caught up with him. Lucy was the only remaining link. She was the one that had seen him day in and day out for the year he was off and lost to addiction.

And there she was. Dying under his sheets.

Sherlock Holmes' past, present, and future were ironically happening all at once. His past in Lucy dying beneath his sheets, his old addiction reawakened and trying to escape and shake through his veins and pulsating heart-race; his present in 221b, his cases, and with Lestrade, Molly, John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson all in the living room waiting for him; …and his future- or lack thereof, with Madeline Smith who also sat in the living room who waited knowingly- but not for much longer.

His past was ending, his present was remaining but it would not be enough to keep him content for his future. Sherlock saw all of this now as he stared at Lucy's sunken face. Sherlock, with utter selfishness, wish he'd never met her, because maybe if he never had- none of these other people would have been around, and his life- he would never have grown to be able to love and his life, in his definite opinion, would be much easier. And not so shattering as it was becoming.

Quickly, as if the floor were on fire behind him, Sherlock left his bedroom- ignoring the stares of John, Madeline- and the newly arrived Mary, Molly and Lestrade as he walked to the living room door. Snatching his trench off the hanger, Sherlock ignored their calls of his name as he bounced quickly down the stairs, slamming the front door of 221b behind him, hands shaking.

* * *

Madeline ran the cool cloth along Lucy's pale forehead, humming to herself lightly as she sat on the side edge of the bed. Unlike Molly and Lestrade who had left minutes ago, she found she was not nervous to see Sherlock bust out of 221b only an hour earlier. Neither was John. They figured if Sherlock was leaving to get drugs, he wouldn't have made such a spectacle of it. But rather his dramatic exit sent the message that he needed time alone and did not wish to be followed.

Madeline became lost in thought as she began to brush the red curls that lay against his white pillow. It seemed she was waiting, waiting for an absolution from the man who was perhaps even more lost than she was. Madeline wanted to be there for him- as did John, as did Molly and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson; aside from all the madness they were his friends and he (despite his constant insults and demoralizing treatment) was theirs. At the very least even when Madeline and Sherlock stood on shaky ground in which she was in love with him and she had absolutely no idea how he felt about her- at the core of it all was a very strong friendship.

"That's a sad smile."

Madeline nearly jumped at the cockney accent breaking through the silence of the room. Looking down with wide eyes, she saw a pair of tired bright green ones looking back at her.

Lucy, was awake.

Madeline, in a rare fashion, was speechless. Her mind blank as she looked down at the pale girl with bright eyes, but only for a moment. Soon she began to wonder if she should tell her that her days were numbered.

"Uhm…" Her mouth opened and closed many times, subconsciously doing an imitation of a fish quite well.

"I'm Lucy Meyers."

"Oh!" Madeline exclaimed flustered looking around to put the cloth down, she wiped her hands on the bottom of her floral dress and waved, "I'm Madeline Smith."

"Nice to meet you." Lucy looked around worriedly, "Sorry, I don't mean to be rude but, where am I?"

"Oh, you're…" Madeline paused wondering how to explain it all, "You're in London. Uhm… 221b Baker Street, to be exact-"

"Sherlock." His name fell from Lucy's mouth as if she were speaking of a myth, of something impossible. Her eyes were wide and suddenly a distant fear overcame her face.

"You… you know where he lives then?"

"Of course." Lucy breathed. "Even I heard about the fall last year."

"Why didn't you come earlier if you knew where he lives?" Madeline asked passionately, "He could have helped you before-" But she stopped breathlessly, not sure she should be the one to tell her.

"As if I had a choice." Lucy stated, her voice quivering, but maintained her composure as she continued, "I've known for 2 years. I can see that look on your face and you don't need to worry, I know where I'm headed. I just need to know how soon."

"A day…" Madeline's heart broke as she saw Lucy wince, clearly she'd thought she might have more. "Maybe two."

"Are uhm…" Lucy cleared her throat, "Are you a doctor, then?"

"No, but John is. He's Sherlock's best friend." Lucy looked at Madeline as if she'd grown another head. "He's the one that's been keeping track of your vitals and…" Madeline pointed to the IV in her arm, "This." Lucy's eyes squinted as she watched Madeline speak, not just watched- more like observed. And Madeline felt weary under her strong stare, one that reminded her of Sherlock's. "I don't know what's going on exactly so if you want like I could call John for you, he's at Mary's for a bit but she's going to be coming back here with John later. The only reason he stepped out is because he went on a search for Sherlock who walked out for a bit, don't worry though I'm sure they'll all be back soon and I honestly don't think anything's wrong but usually when Sherlock wants his alone time it's best not to give him it for too long or else he goes kind of crazy ass psycho, you kno-"

"You talk a lot." Lucy interrupted suddenly, and rather bluntly. It wasn't a judgment- it was simply a statement. An observation. One that caught Madeline off guard as she could see it interested the fiery redhead in front of her. "Not in a bad way," Lucy tacked on, "It's just… you really express yourself."

Madeline blushed lightly with a nod, "Yeah, I sort of grew up with parents that encouraged showing and sharing emotions. We were a very… affectionate family. I tend to express myself and I just can't help it."

Lucy's lips quirked in a smile, "…Sherlock must hate that."

"Ardently." Sherlock's voice broke through the room. Lucy's eyes fell on him widely as he stood in the door frame; Madeline instead didn't even turn around, she only rolled her eyes with a smirk- a playful action that caught Lucy's attention.

Usually when Sherlock insulted people declaring that he passionately hated their actions, the reaction was not a pleasant one. This case must have been one in a million-or… and almost even more unbelievably, Sherlock wasn't insulting her, but rather- was teasing her. Was that possible? Sherlock Holmes… playful?

No way. Lucy thought, but when her eyes fell to Sherlock as he was perched against the doorframe his eyes subtly on Madeline only for a second- and for that moment they were on her, Lucy saw a glint. A rare subtle glint that for the year she'd nearly spent almost every day and night with him, she'd never seen. And the moment he caught Lucy looking at him- it was gone. The man's eyes back to their usual cold indifference in less than a flash.

That answered all of Lucy's questions and disbelief.

As Madeline stood up and cleared her throat, Lucy realized that this poor girl had no idea.

"Mary's here?" Madeline asked. Sherlock pushed himself away from the doorframe allowing her to exit.

"In the living room with John."

"Great." Madeline's eyes fell to Lucy, watching her sit up against the pillows, she smiled. "it was nice to meet you, Lucy."

"You too."

As soon as the door was shut behind Madeline, Lucy and Sherlock looked at each other properly for the first time. Sherlock, as ever, unreadable; Lucy smirked cleverly.

"Well, that was interesting."

"Whatever do you mean?" Sherlock quirked a brow as he slid off his coat and snapped off his scarf, the teasing in his lips telling her he knew precisely what she was talking about.

"Poor girl. And you're an idiot. Clearly you have to see that she thinks of you in the same way you do-"

"That's not the point." Sherlock sighed taking the seat next to the bed,

"That's exactly the point. I may be sick but I'm not stupid. You better tell her Sherlock or so help me I will haunt you from my grave-"

"I'll take my chances." Sherlock replied with a sarcastic smile and nod of his head.

"You have no intention, do you? You're a moron." Lucy sighed and winced, grabbing her stomach as she was fully sitting up now against the pillows.

"Clearly trying to hide your pain when you're dying seems rather like the mark of an idiot to me." Sherlock's tone was casual but his comment changed the tone of the room.

Lucy attempted to take a deep sigh but failed, as she ended up coughing uncontrollably. Grabbing the pitcher on the bedside, Sherlock poured her a glass of water. Sipping on it slowly, Lucy's hand began to shake with its weight.

"Don't worry, she already informed me of how much time I have left." Lucy bit her lip with relief as Sherlock took the glass from her hand and placed it back on the table. "Looks like you got to me just in time. Kismet-"

"Luck." Sherlock corrected pointedly for the second time that day, erupting another smirk from Lucy.

"Haven't changed all that much, then."

"Neither have you." Sherlock's comment, as it was not a true one, was surprisingly- a kind one.

"I must look terrible." Lucy's eyes began to water as she looked away from Sherlock. She could hear his breath held, this was no surprise as the tears dripped down her cheeks, turning her face entirely away from him. If he really hadn't changed all that much, he still didn't know how to deal with a crying person.

That's why, when Lucy felt his palm lay flat against the back of her hand that was on the bed- she looked back at him with wet astonished eyes.

"I don't know, if I was a day or two within my death, I wouldn't mind your complexion."

A loud snort suddenly released itself from Lucy, her hand smacked over her chest as she laughed loudly and suddenly. Sherlock watched her with rare amusement, proud his calculated comment received its intention.

"Oh my god-" Lucy smiled, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands, "I haven't laughed so hard in so long- oh forget it I haven't laughed period in so long. Look at you!" She exclaimed, smiling at him with sudden pride, "Trying to cheer me up. Maybe you really have changed all that much."

Sherlock looked away hesitantly, not wanting to breach this subject. But being faced with his last link, dying before him- he was certain he would deny her nothing even if he absolutely wanted to do nothing more than to run out of that room yet again and not think about where she was headed and how his every intention to do one thing in return for her had backfired, resulting in the worst sort of life imaginable. One that he couldn't have controlled or helped with even if he'd wanted to… and if he had known- would he have wanted to.

"Thank you, Sherlock." Lucy stated as she saw his self-hating look.

"I couldn't help you." Sherlock shook his head with a growl.

This time, Lucy grabbed Sherlock's hand. "But you're the only one that's ever tried. And this last day to be spent like this- knowing that there's at least one person out there who still cares enough- and ironically having that person be possibly be the biggest asshole in all of London," this time even Sherlock couldn't help but smirk, "That's given me something great to go away with. And I'm so glad that I could see you… one last time." Sherlock looked away, not knowing how to reply as she gave his hand a squeeze. "And how are you doing other than the obvious?"

"Obvious?" Sherlock snorted.

"Yes, other than the detox." This time it was Sherlock's turn to look at her with astonishment, "I told you, I may be sick but I'm not stupid. Don't forget, the year we spent together you were beyond high all the time; I saw how you were when you'd go up and I know precisely how you are when you come down. I don't need to know why you went back again, but I can tell you didn't have a choice."

"So certain?" Sherlock's eyebrow quirked curiously.

"I saw the girl, remember. You certainly didn't start using again on your own."

"No, but I've continued it on my own, don't give me so much pointless credit." Sherlock snapped. "You have your hours numbered, let's not waste it discussing me-"

"And do what, discuss me?" Lucy countered passionately, "I'm gone, Sherlock. My life is over, quite literally. Nothing we could say would help anything, but after I'm gone you're left behind and I'm going to tell you exactly what I want to say because I won't have any other chance," Lucy took a breath, attempting to calm her nerves as she looked at him restlessly, trying to get him to understand. "You're the most difficult man in this whole world- but you're worth the struggle, Sherlock. 10 years ago I told you you'd find a friend, you'd fall in love and you told me I was wrong, and stupid and bright eyed- and now look at where you are. And you don't need me to tell you that if you go back to shooting up- you're going to lose it all. The girl, the best friend, the career- all of it. And the longer you stay away from her the harder it's going to be for you to be happy. I know you love her, I can tell- you don't have to say it. And I know exactly why you've suddenly come to find me."

"Lucy-"

"No," She insisted persistently, her voice strong and passionate. "It's okay. I'm actually flattered and I want you to know something because I'm going to tell you the truth right now. It's not going to be me who's going to be the convincing push to get you off the drugs again. I'm not the one who's going to get you off it. I don't have that kind of effect in your life anymore- wake up, you idiot. You have a best friend who cares so desperately about you, and a girl that's crazy about you- and God knows who else is out there that I don't know about and haven't even met yet that also cares about you and helps take care of you. And you- you what? Repay them by ruining yourself willingly? Why? Because being in love with someone is too much for you to comprehend?"

"If you had any idea of the sort of life she has had before I came into it-" Sherlock spat impatiently, "you would know that what she deserves is not-"

"Who are you to decide what she deserves? She's a big girl, a smart one at that. She's still here- isn't she? Clearly she's not weak spirited- I'll give her that even on the sole basis for living with you for god knows how long. But you already know…she won't wait around for you forever. …especially not when you're like this- teetering on the edge. Just waiting for an OD to happen. And I don't want that to happen to you. Not when you mean so much to so many people."

Silence fell between Lucy and Sherlock. This was not what he had been expecting to happen. He'd been expecting a sentimental marathon with her recounting all the times he'd not remembered of them together, all of her hopes and dreams for the life she almost but never got to live- but it seemed she was on a different mission. A mission of him.

Sherlock, most certainly, did not know how to react. It seemed, even after a decade, Lucy Meyers still knew how to catch him off guard…that was happening a lot lately.

"So…" Lucy cleared her throat. She'd said what she felt she needed to say and now it was time for her to change the subject to a long unanswered question. One with a much kinder and lighter undertone. "You ever going to tell me about the other Lucy?"

Sherlock's eyebrows came together as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin in confusion, "What?"

"You know… when you 'picked' me out I guess. You passed over every girl but changed your mind and picked me when you heard my name. Then, at some point towards the end I asked you why you picked me because of my name, and you said it's because you knew another Lucy a long time ago and that it must have been 'foolish subconscious sentiment.' "

"Lucy," Sherlock shook his head, "I don't recall saying any of that."

"I'm not surprised, you were fully in the bag at the time." Lucy smirked, "Most of our moments are going to come away with me; I suppose that's one thing I regret. I wish you could have seen all the moments you made me smile and… other things." She blushed lightly, observing Sherlock's curious face, "And I know it wasn't you, I know that. But they still meant the world to me. So I want to know about Lucy."

"Why?" Apparently, unexpectedly, there was an area of his life that Sherlock wanted to deny Lucy to discuss. A part of his life that made the present Lucy even more curious to hear about, because whatever it was that had happened in regards to the other girl even farther back in his past- had forever changed him into who he was now.

And there was no greater mystery to her, after all the time of being in his presence for that one year, than who Sherlock Holmes really was. And why.

"Now you said that other Lucy never really meant anything to you, but I've always been so curious to know what it was about her that affected you so much."

Sherlock shifted in his seat and sighed, clearing his throat, "I don't want to discuss it."

"That bad, was it?" Lucy said softly, "You know, in less than 48 hours your story's going to be gone. It's not going anywhere but away with me."

Flexing his fingers impatiently, Sherlock's knees began to bounce as he took a deep breath repeating his question with more frustration, "Why do you want to know so much? WHY." Sherlock pressed, speaking from his clenched jaw. He certainly didn't like where this was headed at all. "Last day of your life- out of everything- WHY this? Hm? Why all of this?"

"Because anyone who really knows you knows that you're layers upon layers. And the year we were together, your drug use- while that may seem like the obvious center- I know it's not. Not even close. I want to know about who you were before, your teens, your childhood- this Lucy, wherever she fell in- is what brought you to me. Because the year I knew you- I didn't even know you; and you'll have to excuse me for wanting to know about the one person who ever made a difference in my life. …The real you. No pretense."

Sherlock and Lucy butted heads. His eyes were defiant- not even John knew such things about him. But for a last wish…

* * *

**Four hours later.**

Madeline ate her sandwich slowly as she sat in Sherlock's chair across from John. Silence filled the living room of 221b. Whatever was going on in Sherlock's bedroom was not loud enough to cause a ruckus.

"It's been awhile." John commented closing his computer as he finished another blog entry. "So, how are your paintings coming along for the opening in some months time is it?"

"Not good." Madeline said between bites, "Between this, ballet practice, and staring at that damn safe for 2 hours a day trying to come up with something- I haven't had time. Or, I suppose, inspiration. And yes, it has been a while- he's been in there for four hours straight."

"Oh, well, I was talking about you and I just talking about day to day things." John looked at her with a light smile.

"Right well, yes, I know." She sighed and put her sandwich down, "I'm sorry it's just… are you sure there's nothing you can do for her? She's…"

"Lovely?"

Madeline looked at John with wide eyes, "Yes. And when you meet her, you'll know it too."

"I'm sorry Madeline. The fates have spoken. There's nothing more I could do. She's had a long hard life and given by the calmness that's struck 221b since she's woken, I'd say she's accepted her fate with grace."

* * *

More time passed, the fire was growing dim as was the darkness of 221b.

"What time is it?" Madeline asked tiredly.

John opened his eyes, not knowing he'd nodded off and looked at his watch, "Jesus, it's 1 in the morning. …Wonder if they've fallen asleep?"

Madeline shrugged. But Madeline didn't want to enter that room again for fear of seeing Lucy dead. She didn't know if she could handle the sight. The amount of death in Madeline's life was more than the average person saw or went through. Perhaps that was why John understood her darkness so well. He saw it too.

Whatever was going on in that room between Lucy and Sherlock was their business; Madeline was quite doubtful he would tell her.

And why would he? It's not like he's mine or anything… Madeline reminded herself.

"I better go check on them." John got up unable to handle going this long without knowing what Sherlock was up to.

"Okay." Madeline said softly. She sighed and grabbed the blanket from the floor. She was exhausted, and while she wanted to stay awake and do her part, she found her eye beginning to close as she nodded off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

When John entered the bedroom, he was surprised to find a most casual sight before him. Lucy was laying down on the bed, Sherlock still in the chair next to it facing her, speaking in casual low tones as if he were telling her some sort of bed-time story. But by the expression on Sherlock's face- it was anything but. John was curious to know what he was discussing with her- or rather, telling her about. But he was certain, as his best friend always did, Sherlock would tell him sooner or later- maybe even much later, but even if it was 20 years from now John was certain he would be told when Sherlock saw fit.

"Sorry to interrupt." John said, both sets of eyes landing on him as the room went silent. "Just want to check in and see how everything's going."

Lucy felt her face react to the strangeness of smiling so wide at the short blonde man who, if she wasn't on deaths door, would have been the type of person she could see enjoying the company of day in and day out.

"You must be Doctor John Watson." She commented her eyes moving to Sherlock for a moment, "Sherlock, you never told me how attractive he was."

Letting out a breathy chuckle, John looked down with a light blush on his cheeks as Sherlock rolled his eyes at the two of them.

"Thank you for looking after me."

"No, really its been my pleasure. I just wish I had better news for you."

"It's alright." Lucy shook her head, determined to get the good doctor to blush even more, she said with a twinkle in her eyes, "I'm flattered to have one of England's best looking after me-"

John blushed even darker and shrugged with a smile, "Ah, well-"

"Good lord," Sherlock stood up with a sigh, "Off to the loo. Finish this up, will you?"

The moment Sherlock left the room closing the door behind him, John looked back at Lucy with a knowing look.

"You've got about 3 minutes I'd say." John said taking Sherlock's old seat, grabbing Lucy's hand in his own, "So while our little meeting here is a little short, Miss Lucy Meyers, what is it you'd like to tell me while he's away?"

* * *

Sherlock slipped off his jacket as he headed out of the loo, laying it across John's chair taking notice of the Madeline-shaped lump that was lightly snoring and was covered in a blanket on his chair, only little strands of hair poking out the top and her neon coloured toes from the bottom. Sherlock sighed annoyed at her colour choice, yet again doing it just to bug him.

"Well at least she's dressing better." He mumbled to himself, taking in the sight of her one last time before entering his bedroom to say casually, "So, discuss what you wanted to without my presence? Or should I grab some tea and give you two some more time?"

John had left Lucy's room after Sherlock's entrance; their conversation over and rather surprising to John.

* * *

**2:30am**

In Madeline's dream she felt herself being pushed and pulled like a wave against the sand. Pushed towards the shore then pulled back into the ocean. Back and forth, back and forth. And while she could breathe properly, unbeknownst to her why in her dream she could suddenly breathe so well in and out of water- she still felt the insides of her chest in a sucking motion. As if they were being lifted from her body through her throat.

Over and over she went and came, in a constant pattern that should have calmed her or perhaps even soothed her, but instead she found herself trying to clutch to the sand to climb out of the water. Trying to steady herself and not be controlled by the waves surrounding her as they moved her, back and forth, back and forth…

Madeline…

_Madeline…_

Opening her eyes slowly as she felt fingers squeeze her shoulder, Madeline looked up raising her head from under the blanket and saw a wide, red eyed Sherlock with wild hair, still halfway dressed in his best suit looking slightly disheveled and blank standing above her.

Madeline already knew what he was going to tell her before he stated it with a blunt emotionless tone.

"She's dead."

* * *

Madeline's heart pounded lightly as she walked into Sherlock's bedroom, him following behind her. Thankfully Lucy's eyes were closed as she laid there, paler than the white sheets she was on. There was an eerie coldness and stillness in Sherlock's bedroom.

Walking towards the bed Madeline grabbed the ends of the comforter and lifted it softly over Lucy's head, covering her whole body and face as if to lay her to rest. Grabbing her ce llphone Madeline shot off a text to John who was upstairs asleep telling him what had happened so he would be prepared in the morning when he woke up.

Placing her phone back down, Madeline turned to look at Sherlock whose eyes remained on Lucy's body that lay in his bed.

Seeing Sherlock Holmes in such a strange, calm yet dangerously mysterious state would have frightened anyone other than the two people that lived with him; for they had seen death constantly in their lives, and up close. They knew the stages of grief and they knew that it didn't matter how calculated a person you were- everyone when losing someone they may have even slightly cared for or more, needed the exact same thing.

Madeline walked over to Sherlock quietly, and silently grabbed his hand leading him out of the bedroom. Closing the door behind them, Sherlock followed Madeline without a word. It seemed he didn't know what to do, how to react, how to process any of it. This was new for Sherlock. This was not new for Madeline.

But what every person knew was that in moments like these, petty things, unknown things, all of the semantics and mystery that stood between two people was diminished and lessened to the point of basic human nature. From the moment Madeline had taken Sherlock's hand it was clear that this had nothing to do with where they stood as friends or as more than friends or her as his client or anything even along those lines- it was comfort. Basic, simple, and needed.

Leading them to the couch she motioned for Sherlock to sit, and he did. Kneeling in front of him, Sherlock watched her as she unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from his pants. He let her slide it off his shoulders and discard it on the floor. Standing up along with her, Sherlock undid his own belt as he let his trousers fall to the ground leaving him in nothing but his boxer-briefs.

Arranging the pillows and the blankets, Madeline motioned for Sherlock to lay down and instead he sat down in front of her reaching forward and yanking on the sides of her dress. This was the moment Madeline's heart began to pound and ache. Clearly he didn't want to be alone in anything- even in the dress code. But she had to remain focused. She had to keep her emotions and intentions separate. She was comforting him now, this was nothing more.

It seemed, during her little silent pep talk to herself, Sherlock had grown impatient. Standing up he reached back behind her and unzipped the back of her short flowy dress, sliding it off her shoulder as it hit the ground with a soft swoosh. Sitting back and laying down, Sherlock's hands wrapped themselves around her arms taking her down with him.

Madeline couldn't help but sigh as his warm chest and arms engulfed her tightly beneath the blankets as she buried her face into his soft neck, breathing in his intoxicating scent. His legs reached over and grabbed on to hers bringing her whole body flush against his own.

Sherlock had never felt such an unyielding need to be next to someone before. As if having his arms around someone would help him. All of it was foreign to him; and it helped that for one of the very few times in his whole life- his mind was blank and numb to all of his surroundings.

Madeline had somehow understood what he needed. And as he tucked her tightly against him, feeling her small hands soothingly rub their way across his back and sides, her light breathing against his neck, he felt himself lull to sleep at the surge of human contact that did not worry or disgust him, but rather- comforted him to no end, and informing Sherlock that perhaps he needed this too.

* * *

The next morning at the crack of dawn, before Sherlock or Madeline had even awoken, John saw Madeline's text and had had the body immediately removed and taken to St. Bart's where she would be prepared for her funeral. As well as having pre-ordered a new identical mattress and identical sheets for Sherlock's bed- they were replaced and done within minutes- the workers sworn to secrecy and utter silence. John knew Sherlock would notice the change, and that was sort of the purpose as well. Sherlock (as well as Madeline) would certainly never sleep in his bed again if John hadn't done so. John couldn't think of anyone that would be prepared to sleep on the bed once occupied by a dead loved one.

After the workers left, John took to sipping tea in his chair as he read the morning paper, ever so often glancing to the large swell of bodies laying on the couch silently. Though Sherlock slept rarely, John had never seen him sleep so soundly- and for so long. John Watson toyed with the clippings in his pocket. Taking them out hesitantly he let his eyes glance between the princess cut diamond, or the round cut diamond? Or would Mary be partial to Ruby's and go the non-traditional route? Sighing, his eyes drifting over to the safe that sat in its same spot beneath the window, gathering dust.

How dearly John had just wished Sherlock would admit to everyone and open it himself. Poor Madeline was beside herself.

It was a strange thing- that safe. It was as if her not having yet opened it was the last link keeping her here. She'd told him many times that the day she opened that safe would be the day she would leave 221b. John knew Madeline was looking for other one-bedroom flats as she was quite certain of Sherlock's lack of sentiment towards her; John snorted quietly, his eyes landing back on them. Sherlock Holmes really had done one of his brilliant numbers on her. There the man was laying in her arms and as John could see through the shadows of the sheet- clearly clutching her to him in what looking like an iron grip surely to give her bruises in the morning- his nonchalance outside his childish demeanor and needs of comfort during loss were cold enough to turn her away. And they did. And John wondered then how Sherlock would react now that Lucy was gone- now that she had died in his arms.

Would Mycroft be right? Would Sherlock go back on drugs and ruin himself for good? But John had his hopes held high that Sherlock would learn from this and do just the opposite, and hopefully- in that process, wake up and tell Madeline the truth.

But after John's quiet and short conversation with Lucy nearly 10 hours prior- she had him worried. John no longer wished for that safe to be opened. Ever. But he knew it had to be done. And soon.

_A storm is coming..._ She'd told him. And the more she told him about what she'd learned- the less he wanted to be the only one that knew and the more he believed_ in_ the kismet and timing that Lucy was brought here only with less than a day left to live.

John Watson sighed and folded the pictures of diamond cuts back into his pocket where they belonged and where he feared they would remain for quite some time.

From beneath the sheets Sherlock's long limbs stretched from both ends of the couch as he groaned, waking Madeline up as well as she stretched from sleep. John watched the pair, the morning still having not settled in their sleepy minds.

The reality of Lucy being buried today gone from their minds if only for a moment before their conscious minds would take over; and their lack of knowledge of the information Lucy had given him. But morning hit on quick as the clock struck 8.

And all because of Lucy, today- _this_ day, would hit even quicker in every way imaginable; as John knew that wheels were in motion that would change all of their lives for good.

* * *

**Next chapter is the final chapter of Part 4. And it's quite long and detailed and fast-paced, but I hope it will be up within the next week :) **


	14. Case Re-opened

**Okay- this was NOT EXPECTED. Thank you all for being SO PATIENT. **

**Basically- it was terrible timing! I was away for a while on family arrangements, then when I got back my BETA was away for a while so BLESS HER SOUL she beta'ed this whole nearly TWENTY PAGE chapter on her PHONE and sent me them in increments as she went along throughout the couple of weeks. This was supposed to be posted WEEKS ago but unfortunately sometimes horrid timing just gets in the way and for that I apologize and have to thank my beta profusely for all of her hard work in between her busy schedule in a place that doesn't even have WIFI. **

**And I want to thank ALL of you- not just those who have commented, but for every single one of you who's waited so patiently. I really hope its worth the wait and this sort of wait shouldn't happen again. **

**This IS the finale of part 4. **

**PLEASE REMEMBER TO READ THE NOTE AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER FOR INFORMATION REGARDING PART 5! **

**Enjoy my loves**

* * *

"…Nice service." Mary said, unzipping her black dress, watching John out the corner of her eye.

Since the funeral he'd remained seated in her parlor, his tie undone as he slouched in the chair, his thoughts somewhere else. Surely she knew his mind was on his best friend- who throughout the entire funeral of Lucy Meyers had remained frighteningly stoic and nonchalant, as if they were attending an afternoon brunch.

But that was not what had John Watson in a tizzy, it was a conversation Mary had seen take place, a quiet one off in the corner, one that had left John walking away from Mycroft Holmes more than a little frazzled.

* * *

**2 hours earlier.**

John's eyes were settled on his best friend next to him, not even trying to hide the fact that he was observing him- waiting for an expression- for a show of emotion that would never come. On the other side of Sherlock was a crying Mrs. Hudson, hand held by Madeline- who even had managed to have some tears for the deceased. Molly and Lestrade had shown up to pay their respects for the girl they barely knew.

But Sherlock Holmes remained silent and unmoving as he stared at the coffin, as if nothing was inside.

After the Priest had spoken and the dirt began to fill the hole, everyone broke off into their secluded little groups.

"You alright, mate?" John asked Sherlock quietly so no one could hear. Without an answer, Sherlock brushed off John's worried question as he walked past him without a word.

"Well that can't be a good sign." Mary mused quietly. If Sherlock wasn't even opening up to John- there was something massively devastating happening to that man, lost in his absolute silence.

"John, a word." Mycroft Holmes approached him casually, umbrella still in hand and ever present, for a funeral.

Usually, John would scoff at Mycroft, throw a witty insult his way and walk away with every intention of ignoring whatever drabble he felt like expressing. But when it came to keeping Sherlock in check, both men managed to find common ground in him.

As they walked along the pathway through the graves, Mycroft spoke calmly. The Holmes temperament was a frighteningly understated thing.

"My brother... is very close to losing it. And of course by it, you know precisely what I mean."

"I don't know what to do. I can't force him to speak to me."

"No, you can't." Mycroft stopped their walking as he turned towards him, "But you can push him towards the girl."

John looked at the elder Holmes with astonishment and almost angry disbelief.

"What? Are you kidding me? I thought you were every bit against him and Madeline-"

"Yes well, the death of Lucy has pushed him in the wrong direction. And it's going to need a lot more to get him in check- mainly because of the fact that he is very aware of the little hope in the girl coming out of this case alive."

John swallowed dryly, "Sherlock once threw a man out of our window ten times for slapping Mrs. Hudson, he shot up just to ensure that Madeline- _that girl-_ got away safely from Moran. You think he's going to allow her to die on the whim of a case?"

Mycroft watched the brave soldier swallow his anger, but the heat in his words could not be mistaken, especially as they were cooled off by Mycroft's unsettling ones.

"He may not have a choice with her. You hold on to the idea that Sherlock Holmes is indestructible, that he will always be able to outsmart, outdo, and save everyone you hold dear- but that's not true and you know that… especially after what Miss Meyers discussed with you."

"How… how do you know what Lucy and I talked about?"

"I received the information around the same time. It's not hard to deduce by your careful eyeing of Madeline that it was you who got the information from her and not Sherlock. She clearly wanted to spare him any more difficulties around this time."

"He probably already knows."

"He does. Knows precisely what it was that Lucy told you… Tell me John, what exact words did my brother know Lucy expressed to you?"

John shifted from one leg to the other, "She said '_the walls are closing in on the documents_.' She also said that word has gotten around to what they are actually for- and that it's only made people more anxious to get their hands on them."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, knowing that wasn't the end. "And?"

John sighed gruffly, "And that Irene Adler, who's in power of Moriarty and Moran's organization has lost control over certain factions, so she doesn't have the power to tell them to not come after Madeline. They haven't found out much, but they know Sherlock Holmes is housing the girl who knows where these apparently '_priceless_' documents are; that's how Lucy knew where he lived. That and the fall of course."

"Which makes it all the more imperative that he express to Madeline-"

"Yes, yes, yes, I already know your stance," John rolled his eyes before Mycroft, imitating him, "_John he can't tell her!_ Yes, this is all very Romeo and Juliet of you, I get it, you don't want him to tell her his sentiments."

Mycroft paused for a moment making sure John had finished. He took his time before replying, carefully watching for John's look of surprise.

"Which makes it all the more imperative that he_ express_ to Madeline his…_sentiments_." Mycroft said the last word as if it were a bitter taste on his tongue. "With all this added pressure on the case, on her life- and the almost definite possibility that those documents may never be found- all that's left to worry about is my brother's well being with regards to him not killing himself with too heavy an injection. It may be our only hope for saving him now."

The doctor looked back at Mycroft with mock astonishment, shaking his head because he knew Madeline was good for Sherlock. And deep down John Watson knew love would not destroy Sherlock Holmes. He only feared now he was too late to convince him otherwise.

"Well, hate to say I told you so." John said walking away before stopping abruptly, smiling arrogantly at Mycroft, "Well, actually no- I love it. I just bloody love it."

Mycroft rolled his eyes in response before calling out, "Oh and John?" The doctor stopped but did not turn around, "That trinket you've been carrying around in your pocket… I trust you know it's best that wait for quite some time."

John bit his lip, wanting to tell Mycroft to fuck off in regards to his future plans of matrimony but he knew he couldn't- because the man was right. Especially because it was, in fact, probably too late for John to tell Sherlock to not tell Madeline he felt nothing. John's stomach churned at this possibility as well as the thought of him and Mary's relationship being put on hold for the impending self-destruction of his best friend. Not liking this topic, he decided there was no better time to ask than now.

"Lucy…" John stated turning around, "Who is she?"

Mycroft lifted an eyebrow, "Well, you know all about her, John. We just buried her."

"No not that one. When I came in to see Lucy- this one- I overheard Sherlock talking about a 'Lucy' that clearly wasn't her…" Mycroft's back straightened. "I didn't hear much of anything except for the name. I mean, he wouldn't talk about Lucy to Lucy unless it was a different one from his past… from a long time ago, I'm guessing. So…who is she?"

Mycroft paused, he looked uncomfortable, which in turn caught John off guard, having rarely ever seen the elder Holmes out of his zone. But with a forced smile and a finishing tone, Mycroft replied before John walked away towards the taxi where Mary was waiting for him.

"Another story… for another time."

* * *

**Present.**

John outlined the ring in his pocket mindlessly, lost in thought.

"Everything alright, darling?" Mary asked, coming into view, already having changed out of her dress into a casual jeans and t-shirt.

John folded his hands together and sighed. "Yeah. Uhm… so…do you mind..."

"Go." Mary said suddenly a compassionate smirk on her face, John raised his eyebrows in question.

"What?"

"Go find him. He needs you."

Quickly, John stood up and placed a kiss on Mary's cheek, not knowing if he could love this woman any more than he already did.

* * *

**221b.**

Back at Baker Street, Madeline sat in John's chair, mindlessly channel surfing through the telly, shoes off and dress crumpling beneath her. She felt hungry but was too lazy to even bother getting up. Sherlock had slipped out of the funeral without anyone noticing and he hadn't been back since.

The hours had passed and the early day turned into late afternoon rather quickly. Madeline knew it was a matter of time before Sherlock would be back. She couldn't deny her worry for him. He hadn't spoken a word to her since last night... after telling her Lucy was dead. He hadn't even commented on her neon toenail polish.

_Well, now I just have weird looking toes with no one to share them with._ Madeline thought with a sigh, looking down at them. She couldn't believe she actually missed his eye roll and scoff right then. _That can't be a normal thing to miss._

Her eyes went to the safe that sat before her, it had been moved in this location as it had come in handy as a nice footrest for John during his afternoon naps when he and Sherlock weren't off on a case.

_Why the hell not._

Madeline laid back in the chair and crossed her feet on the damned safe which had become the absolute bane of her existence for the past two months. She on more than one occasion had seriously pondered taking a jackhammer to it, therefor triggering its self-destruct device and ending it all.

…That was one of her more morbid fantasies.

Madeline was about to turn off the T.V. until the programming caught her eye. Excitement surged through her as the music filled her ears. Hesitantly, she looked around her. Did she dare keep in on this particular programming?

In 221b not many things remained secret, as of course she and John lived with a walking talking know-it-all who made her feel constantly exposed because she knew with one glance at the scoffs on her shoes he could see her whole day. But there were many things Madeline knew to keep under wraps, she did not want to face his inevitable eyerolls for every little thing she liked (even if at the moment she missed them), including the embarrassment of her most favourite movie in the world.

It was silly, really, just the fact that _Enchanted_ was playing in 221b and that Amy Adams was singing a song about showing your love in gestures- was almost laughable. There was a sort of strange satire where the lighthearted sweetness of the film collided with the brutal reality of Baker Street. It almost seemed satiric that such giddiness could still exist in the flat. After such a dark year, and having just began the day with a funeral- Madeline had decided that whether or not Sherlock Holmes walked in at that very moment- she would indulge in her favourite film.

She watched and found herself smiling, she had almost forgot what it was like to get lost in a fantasy. She remembered the last time she saw this film back in Colorado- only a month before Sherlock Holmes had walked into that café and forever changed her life. She'd dragged Michael to it after another busy day at work in an attempt to distract herself from making wedding plans, which she'd avoided at all costs.

The film was very low expectations for her. But halfway through she found herself falling into its trap. Its catchy tunes, its absurdity, and its light-heartedness had made her forget about her orphaned state, her recently rehabilitated brother- and a fiancé she never wanted to marry. From then on it had been her pick-me-up. But this time, as she watched it in 221b, it had a different effect.

As the song continued, Madeline began to tear up, her hyperactive emotions getting the better of her. Madeline sniffled as she began to weep like a three-year-old girl while Amy Adams pranced around Central Park with a catchy musical number that somehow had managed to involve half of Manhattan. Picking up a tissue, Madeline blew her nose; she'd never reacted like this to the sickeningly sweet film- what had changed?

_Because you're in love, you idiot._

Her eyes glanced back at the sofa. That morning Madeline had woken up alone, with no sign of him next to her. John was there, he'd been the one to wake her up and inform her of the hurried funeral to take place in an hour's time. He hadn't asked about what had happened- only mentioning that Sherlock would 'meet them there' at the cemetery. And even then, Sherlock made no comment to her or hardly even acknowledged her presence . Madeline's heart couldn't take much more dejection.

It was in that moment, as Madeline watched the musical number come to its ending and climax, she realized the first kiss she and Sherlock had shared years ago, and the few intimate moments they'd had- actually amounted to nothing. Madeline realized that she had brought a certain fantasy and hope to a reality that was very different than what she desired- what she imagined.

She was hanging on to a dream of him loving her, although he certainly did not. This was of course because of the harsh reality that she had yet to notice him doing anything out of his way to show her that he loved her.

_He didn't even get me those gummy bears I asked for from the train. He hasn't done anything to show me!_

_….Except for injecting himself with heroin to save you from Moran, you idiot. She thought to herself. But maybe he just did that for the case? Or was it to beat Moran? …Or was it for me? Does it even matter?_

Closing her eyes tightly, Madeline groaned and clicked off the T.V. With her constant overthinking- she was getting a headache. And as she sat there in the silence, her cheeks drying and her mind clearing- her mobile next to her on the arm of the chair seemed to become more and more tempting for her to pick up. Not to call Sherlock. Not even to call John. But instead to call Bethany Wilson- the realtor Madeline had been in contact with.

But she'd promised herself to not call until she heard an absolution from Sherlock in regards to his... feelings for her. She didn't know why, but a part of her wanted to wait until it was sure. The part of her that Madeline called 'a love-sick fool'- as she felt like an idiot that was only waiting for him to tell her to bugger-off and that she's no more than a client.

_If I'm right I must be a masochist._

Madeline's eyes opened and landed on the clock. She'd been pondering for a good hour. Still no John. Still no Sherlock. She needed a distraction before she drove herself mad, and quick.

_Where are they?_

She looked back at the door to 221b, still open and still unmoved. Mrs. Hudson had gone away to stay with her sister for the week, unable to calmly face the fact that a young girl had died in the upstairs flat. There was no other way into 221b- so either John had found Sherlock and had taken him out- or he was still searching for him…

"Oh my god…" Madeline groaned with a roll of her eyes, realizing the answer to her question. It was the most obvious thing in the entire world.

Sherlock was already there in 221b. He'd been there the whole time.

His bedroom door had been closed all day since having Lucy removed and the mattress and sheets changed. No one would think to look there after the funeral, as almost everyone would assume he would be away on another one of his London walks.

Madeline rose from John's seat and walked as quietly as she could to the bedroom door. She didn't know why she was nervous, her deduction seemed sound and a frightfully simple answer that was just infinitely clever enough to fool them all. It had Sherlock Holmes written all over it.

So when she opened the door to find Sherlock Holmes sitting in a chair looking through his bolted windowsill with his back towards her it seemed only fitting when he commented with a grumble not even bothering to turn around-

"Took you long enough."

"What are you doing?" She stated worriedly. It was a frightful sight. He must have heard the move and her sobbing- but Madeline pushed her embarrassment to the side- Sherlock's body was incredibly still and his voice shockingly cold.

"…You should leave." He warned her.

Madeline paused, "…why?"

When Sherlock didn't answer, she stalked towards him and shoved his shoulder away from the windowsill, almost certain he would have drugs laying there. When she saw none, Sherlock quirked an eyebrow in her direction- knowing she would look and find nothing. It was as if he were expecting it.

But Madeline was not finished. Oh no- she wasn't so easily fooled.

"Problem?"

"Give it to me." Madeline stated threateningly.

"Give you what?" Sherlock rolled his eyes with an annoyed sigh, knowing it made her feel like a needless presence, but she wasn't falling for it. Not today. "I don't need to deal with your nonsense- especially not now."

"Give it to me," Madeline continued in a low threatening tone, "And I won't hurt you."

A low chuckle erupted from Sherlock's chest, "Hurt me? What are you going to do- make me sit through Enchanted? Or have me read Pride and Prejudice?"

_Dammit!_ So he was listening.

"Worse." Madeline stated stretching her neck and swinging her arms to loosen them up, Sherlock raised both eyebrows that taunted her- clearly he had no fear.

"Is that so?" He mocked, before adding an edge to his voice, "I told you- I have nothing. I just want to be left alone."

"You're lying." Madeline stated calmly, shaking out her legs, "And yes it is so. You forget- I'm a prima ballerina. I may not be able to do those underground bare knuckle fights like you used to do, but I can still take you down and get what I want." Madeline stopped stretching and looked deadpanned at Sherlock- who's face read a sternness that was anything but fearful. "Now," She repeated once more, in a finalized threatening tone. "Give it. To me."

"I. Don't. Have. Anything." Sherlock mocked her tone. Madeline nodded slowly.

"Alright, now I gave you a chance. Guess I'm just going to have to kick your ass."

"Kick my ass? Christ you're so American." He rolled his eyes before sarcastically tacking on with a nonchalant mumble, "Oh I'm so scared."

There was a moment's pause as Madeline smiled. And that smile was the last thing Sherlock saw before Madeline's body came flying through the air, vaulting towards him and knocking him straight onto his back against the hard wooden floor.

* * *

John sat in the taxi cab, frustrated as ever. Sherlock wasn't answering his phone and he was nowhere to be found and Madeline surely would have found a moment to message him if Sherlock had returned to 221b. Nevertheless, John had been out searching for the man for two hours, afternoon was turning into evening and he was getting restless.

"Might as well go home…" He mumbled to himself, "221b Baker Street please." He instructed the driver.

The anxiety in John had been great since having that discussion with Mycroft, now knowing even Sherlock's brother was insistent on him telling her- that this might be the only thing that would save him. Save him from destroying himself with his addiction.

It was rush hour in London as the taxi stopped, much too far from Baker Street for him to make a run for it. John only hoped that by the time he reached Sherlock, he wouldn't be too late. Because if he had decided to go ahead with his decision and tell her he felt nothing- there would be no getting Madeline back after that. And then John knew Sherlock would be hopeless.

* * *

"Jesus Christ!" Sherlock shouted breathlessly, his arms pinned behind him as Madeline sat on his back, searching the inside of his jacket pocket. "You're the size of an ant but you have the density of a dying sun- how much do you bloody weigh!?" He exclaimed, his commentary not deterring her from her search… and certainly not the fact that she loved the feel of him squirming between her legs- she'd never noticed how big his bum really was.

"Hah!" Madeline shouted. Just as Sherlock broke free, she jumped up with the little baggie clutched in her hand. "I knew it! And muscle weighs more than fat, and I clearly have plenty of that."

"Give it back…" Sherlock warned in a serious tone as he stood up and straightened his jacket.

"No." Madeline replied fearlessly. As Sherlock took a quick step forward, but Madeline was one step ahead as she stuffed the little bag at the front of her bra where her left breast was. "Go on then…" She dared, Sherlock gave her a scowl, knowing she knew very well his upbringing wouldn't let him reach for it in there, "Go for it."

Neither of them moved. It was a standoff.

"Curious scar." Sherlock said suddenly, Madeline's face contorted in confusion momentarily, her hand grabbing onto the locket around her neck from her late parents. She realized he must have (for once) been forced to acknowledge the fact that she had a chest.

"Oh," Madeline realized he was talking about the light scar right above her left breast, "I fell as a kid."

"Did you now?"

"Yes, now stop looking at my tits."

"You put it there, you forced me to, this is your doing."

"Yes, well admit it you like looking at them." Madeline attempted to get the upper hand in the conversation, but failed dramatically as a smirk came on Sherlock's face as his eyes roamed over her- deducing her every inch.

"Not nearly as much as you like me staring at them."

Madeline's cheeks became inflamed with red and heat, her hand squeezing her necklace looking away from his cheeky smirk as he won yet another round. But she wasn't so willing to give up yet. Quickly she began to move around the room, opening his drawers entirely disregarding her own. When she found what she wanted she moved to sit on the bed and patted down next to her, indicating for Sherlock to do the same.

"What is this? What are you doing?" Sherlock growled his hands balling into fists as he watched her place the small board on her lap. With the little razor she found in his pants drawer, Madeline reached into her bra and pulled out the little baggie- pouring half of it on the board and separating it into two lines.

Clearing her throat, he watched her roll one bill, then a second bill- and he realized what her intentions were. A low growl released from his chest as he found himself looking at her as if he were going to ignite in flames of anger at any moment- but Madeline was acting as if this were an afternoon picnic.

"Come along then, gotta get this done before John gets here." Madeline said casually holding her own bill between her fingers, "Now, I've never done this before, so you're going to have to talk me through it, okay?"

Sherlock watched, shocked as she pulled it up to her nose and began to bend her face down...

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" Sherlock shouted suddenly, quickly snapping forward and capturing her hand in a vice like grip and squeezing it as he looked down at her, boring his eyes into her skull as they burned with a rage Madeline had never seen before.

"…So?" Her nonchalant reply with a shrug was the ticket. "You do it, I do it."

"What?" He hissed, his grip squeezing her wrist tighter. Madeline's casual demeanor would not be deterred; she'd done this before.

"I said the same thing to Michael when I found a bottle of Jack in his room two weeks after rehab. I chugged most of the thing and got alcohol poisoning, ended up in the hospital for a week."

"You're a moron."

"Did the trick, didn't it?" She raised an eyebrow at Sherlock who was showing a glint of fear in his eyes, "He never drank again. He finally knew what it was like to see someone he cared about doing what he did…"

A deafening silence now stood between them. Madeline had managed to declare that she believed Sherlock cared about her. Her face was daring him to speak, to either deny or agree. But she already knew what his predictable Sherlock-answer would be, and she hoped it was so, so she could get her point across.

"I don't care." Sherlock stated definitively, making no indication that his hand was going to move itself from her wrist.

"Good. Then you can let go of me now."

"You won't do it."

"I drank nearly a whole fifth of Whiskey, you think I won't do a line of cocaine? Come on Sherlock, the answer is in your deduction. You know I'm insane enough."

"You are, perhaps, the most annoying nuisance I've ever had enter my existence." Sherlock declared between his teeth, erupting a smile from Madeline's face.

"That's what most of the buffet-restaurant owners back in Louisville called me too." Madeline raised an eyebrow at him, "Now, let go."

"You're bluffing." Sherlock held tight to her wrist as she attempted to twist it away.

"Am I? And why do you care since… well, you don't care."

"Because they're my drugs and I don't want you to touch them."

"Nice try, you're loaded rich, don't act like this was hard to get. And don't be selfish-share the love."

"Shut up and stop trying to break your wrist free." He demanded, his hold on her growing weaker; she was quite strong. He'd almost forgotten she was basically an athlete.

A moment of silence passed as she stared directly into his cold frustrated eyes before shouting, "Too late!" and breaking her wrist free from his clutch, shocking him as he stumbled slightly backwards, watching with wide eyes as Madeline got the rolled bill to the board and bent her head over. Sherlock reacted in the quickest way he knew how.

Madeline gasped as the board and the white powder went flying through the air until it fell with a whoosh and a loud knock against the wooden floor landing right outside of Sherlock's door, the floor dusted with the white powder.

Madeline looked back at Sherlock, astonished as he stood staring down at her with an expression of that only a child who was saying _see what you've made me do?_ Would make.

"You just-!" Madeline exclaimed out of shock, standing up on the bed. "Oh that's fine! I'll just go through your 'sock index' and find some more!" Madeline began to step off the bed until Sherlock caught her in midair, her legs kicking as he tightened his grip around her waist.

"Don't touch my sock index!" Sherlock shouted, "You psychotic girl!"

"Give me some!" Madeline shouted, suddenly an idea popping into her head as she reached down with both hands into the pile of perfectly sitting curls atop his head, intertwined her fingers in them, and pulled.

Sherlock screamed. She'd managed to somehow find out exactly how sensitive his follicles were. In a moment of huge shock, Madeline's stomach plummeted inside of her as the world shifted. Sherlock's grip around her immediately loosening and his body falling to its knees; she'd found his Achilles heel.

"Jackpot!" Madeline exclaimed as she tried to crawl over his body to the powder as they were both laying on the floor, Sherlock's chest between her legs.

"No!" Sherlock growled, grabbing onto her shoulders trying to pull her down. Madeline struggled and began to pound on his chest with fervor. "STOP IT! Stop it NOW!"

"If it's fine for you, then WHY NOT ME?" Madeline shouted reaching down to pull on his hair yet again, but he anticipated her move and latched onto her wrists with both of his hands before she could grab onto his sensitive follicles. Placing his knees on either sides of her hips, Sherlock squeezed and forced them to flip over, causing Madeline to yelp in surprise. She struggled beneath him as one of his hands clutched her wrists atop her head and the weight of his body in his waist forcing her down and still. "Why not me!?" She declared, both of them breathless, "Tell me! WHY?"

"BECAUSE!" Sherlock shouted suddenly, his free hand slamming down loudly on the floor next to her head making her jump, his temper officially lost- eyes wild and burning with anger, a low growl releasing from his chest as it heaved and breathed heavily against Madeline's. "You are so infuriating!"

"Am I?"

"Yes… you infuriate me." He growled as his eyes bored into her own. Madeline could feel her pulse quicken as she stared up at him, she knew he could feel it too as his fingertips pressed into the inside of her wrist above her head. It was that chemistry- that electricity between them.

Well aware of every inch of themselves and of the other that was touching, it felt like there were alarms going off in the room. Madeline wondered if he felt them too. As she looked up at him, at his wide dark eyes, she let her own slip down to look at his lips, an action she knew he noticed as they opened involuntarily at her glance. Madeline stretched her neck, trying to get comfortable as she realized her legs were spread out with him settled between them heavily holding her down. She felt something hard against her stomach- it could have been his belt, or it could have been him- and Madeline not-so-secretly hoped for the latter, as her tongue subconsciously poked out and licked her full upper lip, her breath unable to be caught.

"Say what you want to say." Madeline said softly, erupting a curious quirk of an eyebrow from Sherlock who was still attempting to understand how it was he ended up in this position and why he hadn't yet moved.

He could feel her beneath him, every inch of her. He hated how lovely she looked beneath him, with her hair mussed out around her face. He could feel her soft breath against his neck as she looked up at him with her wide brown eyes. If ever there was a moment to give his definitive answer- this was it.

"I have nothing to say."

Madeline's disappointment in him, although silent, filled the room like a concert. He was forever Sherlock Holmes and this was her reminder.

"Just say it then…" Madeline pleaded, "Give me an answer so I don't wonder anymore. Tell me you don't-… just say it and end my misery." Sherlock didn't reply, only looked away from her as her eyes glossed over. "Remember what you said to me when you and John got me from Moran's? You told me you'd come back to me and all of this would be over…It's like trying to fix a cracked brick wall with no cement, Sherlock. You make everything so impossible, I'm beginning to believe this really will be the rest of your life- sneaking in lines, getting back into your old life bit by bit as if Lucy's forced death in it taught you to be grateful for nothing and the fact that you had a choice and that there are people who actually care about you." Madeline shook her head as a drop fell out the side of her eye, "You don't care, do you? I used to hope that deep down you actually did, that you only simply held a façade but I'm beginning to wonder if you actually do."

This time Sherlock's hard eyes met her own; he'd clearly deduced by the tone of her voice that she was being honest in what she thought.

"You know John's been carrying around that ring and has instead been spending all of his time running around after you. You know I've been looking at apartments with a realtor, you know about Lestrade and his life- Molly and hers, Mrs. Hudson and her affairs- yet everyone goes out of their way, changes their life and will do nearly anything to accommodate you and make sure that you're okay. …I wasn't around to hear what you and Lucy talked about but I don't need to be a consulting detective to know it was about you." Madeline once more shook her head as her lip quivered, she looked away from him, unable to handle the look of disbelief on his face, "You just don't care, you don't reciprocate, it's the Sherlock Holmes show 24/7 and that's the way you want it. Well, I can't be a part of that show anymore… clearly I'm never going to open that fucking safe and that's fine by me- minus the ballet and the gallery showing that I probably won't even get to- I've already failed at most things in my life, I'm sure I can accept one more thing, no problem. And if they come after me-" She shrugged, "They come after me. I just need you to say what you want to say to end my misery…"

Finally she looked back up at him. His hands had let go of her wrists and were now on either sides of her shoulders; his face was blank, stoic, shocked, and yet forced in its neutrality. She could see the struggle there, the struggle in him. But Madeline wasn't like him, no, she was the opposite. Her emotions always got the best of her, and she was done hiding them.

She wasn't the only one hiding. Sherlock's craving for the drugs really were deteriorating. The baggie Madeline had found was something he'd been saving for a later time, a time during which John would be engaged and Madeline moved out. A time with nothing and no one left.

Sherlock looked down at her and knew the words would never come out of his mouth- the words_ love_ and_ I_ would never- could never, exit his lips. But he felt the love. Oh god he felt it, like a growing cancer inside of him he felt it overcome him inch by inch. But at what cost? Would Madeline leave him?_ It's what's best. I can get over her, of course I can. It's not as if she's always on my mind._ But she was, and he was wrong. The girl was everything he wasn't. Madeline Smith was over-emotional, smiled far too much for his liking, was related to the one man that tried to blow up his best friend twice, had a brother who always tried to sexually assault him at every chance he got, she was far too affectionate, too kind, too snippy, far too romantic, too sassy, too sarcastic… too clever… too smart… too strong-willed and level headed….

She was admirable to him. _Christ._ Sherlock Holmes admired her. To him, she was perfect. Everything he wasn't and she was perfect. Everything that should have pissed him off and annoyed him to no end- and she was perfect. And intriguing. And it would be forever a mystery how this creature could exist. She was the perfect balance. She lacked no naivety about the world at all- she'd been hard grown from birth with a dark past, darker present, and even darker future ahead. She knows how the world works. She fought and lived an orphan, took care of her older brother through his addiction, took care of Sherlock during his whilst dealing with her own demons from Moran which she managed to overcome with help from John and the little he could offer. Yet Madeline could smile when she saw the sun rise. She could enjoy a slice (or rather the whole serving) of tiramisu from the dessert shop down the street. She could watch and read her romantic fairy-tale like stories and still have hope in the world and in people that great things still existed. She could still sing at the top of her lungs (rather annoyingly) to her iPod and eat with pleasure while knowing criminal organizations were after her…And if only they knew that this was seemingly the most wanted and dangerous girl in all of England.

All Sherlock saw was the battlefield, and he couldn't see past it. And all Madeline had lived was the battlefield, but she fought her way through it. She saw the beauty of London and of the world even as she lived in its slums and dealt with its worse people. Madeline Smith and her relentless heart…The girl was an enigma.

All of this he thought, he felt- and yet he couldn't say any of it.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes." She whispered.

His chest began to thump, Sherlock swore she could feel it against her own. His eyes went wide as he looked down at her and observed her face, she really did. _Him._ She loved_ him_. His disbelief clear- someone, the girl who he'd fallen so desperately accustomed to had loved him. And without pretense or façade- she knew who he really was, and yet she still did. Yet, he still did.

_I love you too, you stupid girl._

He still couldn't say it.

"You know where I stand now. I'm done pretending or trying to hide it- that's not who I am. So, just say you don't love me back." Madeline swallowed her fear and nodded her head, "It's not what I wanted to hear, but it's what you want to say- what you're going to say, so say it..." Sherlock didn't reply. Tears began to drip freely now down Madeline's cheeks as she whispered looking up desperately at him to end her misery, "Just say it and let me leave you."

* * *

John growled restlessly, his tie abandoned on the back seat next to him. 45 minutes in London traffic was not ideal. He was beginning to lose patience.

Well, its been months since he's realized he's loved her and that he's not going to tell her, why would he tell her today of all days that he doesn't? John rolled his eyes at himself, already knowing the answer,_ He buried Lucy today and he's some sort of masochist, of course he's going to find a way to make today as miserable as possible for himself._

John's knees began to bounce hopelessly.

"Sorry, is there no other way?" John asked the cabbie who looked back at him incredulously, it didn't matter which way they would go- they were going to hit traffic. John had lived in London long enough to know that himself.

Looking at his watch, now John was sure Sherlock would be back at 221b. He couldn't chance it. He couldn't risk his best friend and the girl who had basically become his sister lose their one chance at happiness (or something along those lines- as close as you could get to love when every criminal in Europe was watching and aiming at you).

Throwing money at the cabbie, John jumped out of the car and began to weave his way through traffic until he was settled on the pavement, making a run for it. Baker Street was fifteen blocks away- and he would be damned before they got in the way of securing his best friend from making the biggest mistake of his whole life.

* * *

Sherlock walked down the busy London street, head down and frustration in his step, only two words running through his mind on a constant loop: _silly girl, silly girl, silly girl!_

The sun was beginning to set; today he'd made sure to lose two out of the few people in his life that actually counted. He recalled what she'd told him only minutes earlier after she'd gotten up from under him, restless and impatient at his silence and lack of response to her.

_"I can't wait for you forever, Sherlock."_

_"I never asked you to."_

The words had left his mouth, as usual, before he even had time to comprehend them. The look on Madeline's face as she looked back at him, that could only be described as nearly horrified, would forever be imbedded in his mind as the last words she told him before asking him to leave while she packed rang in his mind: _"I'm leaving."_

And she was.

_Silly Girl._

Didn't she understand this was for her own good!? Sure, he couldn't actually tell her the truth about his emotions, but it was for her own good. And his, he felt. Of course his cravings were back in full swing, but he was certain this had little to do with her…

Then there was the fact that he couldn't even keep good on his word to himself- that he'd finally give her release and give her an absolute answer that he didn't in fact love her.

But he found he couldn't do that either.

_Technical glitch._ He decided, knowing that too was a lie.

Sherlock shoved his hands into his pockets and in that moment her decision to leave had hit him. His fingers wrapped around the crinkling sound of the closed plastic filled with sugar coated gummies. They'd been sitting in his trench since the train, almost not wanting to give her them to show that he didn't care, regardless of the fact that he couldn't leave that train without them. It was then Sherlock realized that Madeline wasn't the silly one-

He was.

_What am I doing?_

Suddenly, he could hear his name being shouted from afar. Looking up, Sherlock saw a sweaty John Watson running his way, he watched amused as he nearly got ran over by a car as he crossed the street to reach him breathlessly.

"A little bent out of shape?" Sherlock teased as he watched John rest his hands on his knees and bend over as he tried to catch his breath, "Thought you had been in the army..."

"Tell me you didn't do it." John said between breaths, standing up fully to face his best friend, wiping the sweat from his eyebrow. "Tell me you didn't tell her what you decided on. Even Mycroft said he was wrong about it- please tell me you didn't say it."

But the look on Sherlock's face already told John the answer, and yet he still replied, "I didn't have to say anything."

* * *

Madeline's hands shook as she packed her suitcase. Having just hung up the phone with her realtor, she'd taken the flat clear on the other side of London.

She could feel her heart breaking. It was time to leave 221b. Sherlock was an addict but it was then she realized that she was one too. She was addicted to a man who would never love her back, or even say he did…or that he didn't.

Her eyes went over to the unfortunate mess of cocaine on the floor; Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be back for a week and there was only one way it was going to get cleaned up and not in his system. Madeline sighed and stepped over it as she headed for the kitchen to grab the broom until she stopped halfway there- her eyes landing on the absolute bane of her existence. The safe.

She would just have to leave with it closed. Opening it would be her official excuse out of the flat and on her own in London- but she didn't have the combination. If she opened it, she assumed the documents were in there and all of her problems would be solved. Her heart was not prepared for the life it had in store.

"…My stupid heart hasn't been prepared for much of anything these past 4 years." She said softly to herself.

_WAIT._

Suddenly, it was as if the world had went on pause. The room suddenly stilled. Madeline's movements froze in shock and a realization hit her in the face as if it standing directly in front of her with a neon sign the whole time. Or, rather- around her neck, the whole time.

"Oh my god…" Madeline breathed. Her hand coming up to wrap itself around her necklace as she slowly turned around to face the safe again. This time- it was something entirely different. Not the bane of her existence- no, it had just turned into her biggest fear.

She knew the combination. Sherlock was right- she'd always known it (And a large part of her guessed that he'd known it too).

Madeline forced her legs to walk towards the safe, she could feel her body go numb as she got closer and closer to it. When she reached it she got down on her knees and let go of the locket that had her answer in it all along-

_To Madeline, our lovely heart._

A multiple combination lock.

Five sets of numbers.

…for five letters.

An encryption.

Her hands shaking now more than ever, she reached up and began to turn the dial as she opened the safe with that had once been forgotten.

_08 - 05 - 01- 18 -20_

The click and the dull sound of the self-destruct disarming nearly echoed throughout the empty flat.

Reaching for the latch, Madeline pulled it out, the metal inside the door clanking as the door, finally- in almost 30 years, was being opened.

As Madeline looked inside the case, her eyes widened and her heart began to beat at a deafening pace as she saw the worst thing imaginable.

_Jesus Christ, no._

Case re-opened.

* * *

**Phew! What did we think? **

**Part 5 is called Blind Endeavours- Part 5: _Piano Concerto No. 17. _The poster and link for the accompanied piece (a more playful piece by Mozart) is in my profile. The first chapter should be up soon. So if you're not following me (as an author) I WILL be updating HERE and posting a NEW "CHAPTER" to inform you that the new story is up as I usually do. It should NOT be long before it is up. Don't worry. **


	15. Part 5 is up!

**Chapter 1 of Part 5 is up! **

**Check it out!  
**

**Wiz-Chic **


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